FRL #22 - NOBELian Prize Festivalgreenspun.com : LUSENET : FRL friends : One Thread
Attention FRLians! The FRL will now come to order for official business.
In order to discourage us towards new FRLian heights, and in difference to Tricia, it is my pleasure as ChiefTin to denounce the first annual Nobelian Prize festival (also unknown as the FRLian Nobel). Here are some general guidelines:
Poetry of all kinds such as a haiku, limerick, ode, sonnet, free-form, etc., are acceptable.
The Prize subject categories are: Animals, minerals, vegetables, and DiEtEr. (If it is not oblivious what your category is then just spell it out for us.)
You may enter as many times as you like. If you dont like to, you may still enter, but if you want to enter without entering, then enter anonymously, and you can always re-enter, unless you have left altogether, like some of the chatters, who I hope can get back here at least temporarily for this (please invite them).
This festival is ONLY for FRLians, and non-FRLians. The festival shall run for a while, or perhaps a bit longer, depending on interest, and maybe even principal. At the end, or close to the end, or at least somewhere past the middle, Nobelian Prizes will be awarded in each of the categories.
All entrants are also judges. You can nominate a fellow FRLian for a Nobelian Prize using your own indiscretion. That's it! The FRL will now go back to its abnormal state.
Lettuce have some fun!
-- Rob Michaels (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 12, 2000
Ma and Pa Beaver,
have come out of their Dam now,
with wee li'l beasties!
-- (email@example.com), May 12, 2000.
It were dat Jiggle Juice!
-- Ashton & Leska in Cascadia (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 12, 2000.
The bigger one stays on the lakeshore while the smaller one goes back with their young offspring... back to the dam. They are confused. They do not understand the craving that they have, only that they have it. Nor do they know the name of what it is they feel the need for only that there is a need for it a Big Need. They do not know why, nor do they care, they just want some more of it. They do not know for sure where to get it, but they know where they have smelled it before...
somewhere they have been to recently...
somewhere where they got something else that was tasty...
somewhere that they must go to again, this time driven by need...
somewhere that has no reason to expect them back.
-- (email@example.com), May 12, 2000.
There once was a person known as DiEtEr who knows if he believed in the almighter.
Some thought that he was unk cause he didn't like no punks and if he met em he'd give them some funk.
Guess you could classify this under DiEtEr, well or maybe animal, vegetable, or possibly even mineral since Unk is golden to us.
-- (Sheeple@Greener.Pastures), May 12, 2000.
Remind me not to try to write poetry and get the format correct at the same time.
-- (Sheeple@Greener.Pastures), May 12, 2000.
The bigger one, a male, has already come and gone. There is no scent of what they seek, even near the garbage cans outside of the small woodshed where they remember smelling it before. He dejectedly goes back to the lakeshore and swims for home, back to Her and their offspring, with nothing to show for his effort. She will not be happy.
"Maybe I should let him out now," Marie thinks to herself. Maybe he is sorry enough and has learned his lesson. Murphy meows loudly as if in agreement with the thought.
Imagine, trying to kill those beavers with that special booze he gets from down south somewhere. He had his share of it too I know he did. So did everyone else including the cops. That stuff is dangerous! Good thing I moved it all out of the basement before locking him up down there.
Think Ill let him out later. Hes been in there for over two weeks now and there are chores to be done. Before I do though, Ill have to take whats left and put it outside in the woodshed: a half dozen cases plus a couple loose bottles, all with those ridiculous labels with the silly picture on them. He probably wont be going in there till the Fall, and anyway, he thinks he used it all up trying to get the beavers. Yep, Ill let him out tonight, after I hide the stuff.
"Besides, I dont have to worry about those darn beavers anymore, now do I?" she thinks.
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 12, 2000.
My entry into the festival:
I wasn't in the FRL
I didn't follow the thread
I never saw the haiku
or the limerick being said
I simply didn't realize
What a treasure I was missin'
Besides the trolls and pollies
there was huggin, there was kissin
I see now that behind the scenes
A family had grown
with poems and with stories
and with fruitcakes being thrown
Their friendship stuck thru thick and thin,
while y2k silently loomed,
Their humor, it could not be dimmed,
even though we all were doomed.
I came on board late in the game
Invited into chat
I wasn't even sure what FRL meant
But no one mentioned that
We'd chat late on into the night
And laugh till we were crying
Or talk about our fears and all
the people who'd be dying.
I'd like to say I know you all
from the time that I joined in
but now I realize all I knew
couldn't fill a book real thin
For I finally went back in time
And read those threads I'd missed
From the very old beginnings to
when someone's wife got pissed
And I understand your friendships
And the two years it has stayed
And I'm honored to be with you
With the love you have displayed
I can be in FRL now
And I know just what it means
And it's nothing to do with Fruitcakes
or with stockpiles of beans
It's a family of people
Who have found each other here
And are getting drunk and having fun
With Uncle Deedah's Beer
-with love -kirsten
-- kritter (email@example.com), May 13, 2000.
Very impressive - brought tears to my eyes. Welcome to the family!
BTW, I guess we forgot to warn you that the FRL is even more addictive than Cousin Iggy's brew, huh?
And back to thread topic -
Haikus about my fav'rite:
Love to people watch!
-- Tricia the Canuck (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 14, 2000.
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (email@example.com), May 15, 2000.
Well done kritter!
The "muse" is non-functional at the moment.
BTW, FRL Friends... someone, we all know who, keeps posting using my different e-mail addresses on TBY2K Uncensored, reputing to come from me. I don't post there in any form... for-the-record.
are more than enough
for busy 'ole me
-- Diane J. Squire (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 16, 2000.
Haiku written, lost :-(
Cyberspace gnomes were hungry
They ate my best work ;-)
Nobel prize is mine!
By virtue of most postings
(Isn't that what counts?)
Gezundheit, Robert :-)
-- Tricia the Canuck (email@example.com), May 19, 2000.
Sheeple: looks like you've earned The Nobelian Prize in the dEiTeR category. Congrats! Did dEitEr ever unmask? ... was it Unk after all? I sure would like to know!
Kritter: that was some post there krit! I have to think you've always had the FRLian Spirit within you, even if you did not join us in the earlier days. Welcome fellow FRLian! And Go Devils!!!! (Hey, any team brave enough to have N.J. in their name deserves our support, doncha think!)
Hi Diane!!! Good to hear from you again. I popped by the sustainability iforum today and looked at a couple of the threads - including one from our old friend Hallyx! Be well, Oh Great Seeress.
Tricia: You get the Nobelian Prize for the best missing haiku :)
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 19, 2000.
Now just you wait a Nobel prize-pickin' minute, here.
Trish wants a prize for the most postings??? Well, I got news fer ya, dear. They AINT NO prize fer inspirational perspiration.
I mean, here I been working my brains to come up with a alligoattator, and do I get a mention. Do I get a prize for Biocological Technologizing and Tampering? NO. All's I get is ignored, that's what!
I mean Robbie is handin' out them prizes like they was beavers, which we is up to our everlastin's in, (and I aint even gonna say whose fault THAT is). But do I get even a little hug from Dianne? Do I even get some sweet talk from Kritter? DO I EVEN get smoochies from Unk D?????
Well, you just KEEP your prizes1 I know when I'm not wanted. I know when I got halucenogenic hallitosis... bombastic B O ...flourescent flatulence.
Nobody's got to tell me the dance is over. Nobody's got to tell me my date is dead.
Well, you'll all be sorry! Very sorry. Nyah haha!
-- Lon Frankenstien (evil@twins.Rus), May 19, 2000.
Someone woke up the wrong Lon!
How did that happen????
-- Tricia the Canuck (email@example.com), May 20, 2000.
Hmmm. Don't know Tricia. Woke up this mornin to check the thread and saw that his evil twin visited. Didn't have a clue what the rant was about until I read the other 'gator' thread. Sheesh!
Now, if only he had put that nice haiku he wrote on this here thread, well, we could've given him a regular Nobelian prize. But since he didn't, I think we can give him an irregular Nobelian prize. Besides, he seems to have nominated himself for some kinda prize!
How about the best Evil Twin Irrational Rant In Search Of Some Attention While Not Posting An Entry On The Right Thread Nobelian Prize?
Now 'bout dem beavers...
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 20, 2000.
It was that darn cat's fault, Marie thought.
He darted right out from under her legs - going after the mouse he had seen between two pieces of firewood on the shed's hard-packed dirt floor. She didn't see him. She was hiding the last of the Jiggle - the two loose bottles. No, she didn't even know that Murphy was around at all, nor that he would make her lose her balance just at the instant she was putting that last bottle away.
It crashed to the floor and broke, spilling it's liquid content completely out. It really smelled strong too, and it was a smell that wouldn't wash completely away no matter how she tried to get rid of it. How could he drink this stuff?
Two miles away their withdrawal symptoms were even worse. They HAD to get some. And soon. The young ones were just old enough now to be left alone for a little while. Tonight they will go back - together this time, and find what it is they seek.
After a while she managed to get rid of most of the smell. No sense letting him know there is still some of this liquor left - He still might smell it if he came in the shed though, but not from outside - after all, he's not an animal...
-- (email@example.com), May 20, 2000.
"How about the best Evil Twin Irrational Rant In Search Of Some Attention While Not Posting An Entry On The Right Thread Nobelian Prize? "
Oh, you think that's cute do ya? You think that I'm so desperate for attention that you can just make up any humiliating phoney prize just to taunt me? You think I can't post on the right thread? Maybe make up some dumb pome or somethin'? You think I NEED your acceptance? You think I need to be included just once, to be invited into the vale of friendship, into the inner sanctum of acceptable society? You think I need to be looked upon as a higher life form, to know a mother's love, to forget those lonely nights of a desolate childhood, alone in a hollow tree stump down on the backwater? You think I need the recognition of accomplishment, the praise of peers? You think I need basic tolerance, companionship, even love? You think I need to be held in the embrace of Helen's bosum?
You think I even want your dumb old prize?
Well, I got news fer ya, beaver-boy:
I'LL TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!
I (sniff), I would like to thank the members of the Academy, the lame-goose leader, and all his canukian sicophants congregated here to honor me today. But, mostly I give credit to my dear, saintly mother, up in the Calcasseu Women's Detention Center, for not letting the hogs eat me when I was little. I pledge to reform my life from this day forward, to serve the good of huminity, and to be a shining model of integrity to the youth of this community.
Or, maybe not.........
-- Lon Frankenstien (Evil@twins.Rus), May 20, 2000.
It was because of Murphy that he found out there might still be some jiggle juice. While 'depositing' Murphy's daily catch, a mouse, robin, and small mole, he noticed the glint and reflection coming from something inside the garbage can. "What's that?" Rob thought. A closer look showed the broken shards of glass, the ripped label with the likeness of Cuz'n Iggie on it, and the unmistakable smell. He wondered if that was the last of it or not. He thought he had used it all in 'liquidating' those pesky critters, but now he wasn't so sure. He doesn't remember putting the bottle in this can, nor does he remember even breaking a bottle at all - but then again, in his previous condition, there is a lot he may not remember.
There might be some more left, he thinks excitedly. It is getting dark now. He'll have to search around tomorrow on his own - no sense asking Marie - heck, it wouldn't surprise him to know that if she found any she would hide it from him - put it away some place... but where?
The young ones are sleeping now as the sun sets in the western sky. A light rain continues to fall as it has all day. They will continue to sleep undisturbed for hours yet - probably until first light in the morning.
Now is the time. The two adults depart together to the place they hope to find it. In moments, they are in the lake and swimming... towards the far shore, towards where the Sapling used to be, towards the house, towards the woodshed...
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 20, 2000.
One of the prizes was Helen's bossums?
-- kritter (email@example.com), May 20, 2000.
They leave the cool water of the lake and scamper onto the shore with reckless abandon. They are not thinking of their safety, nor other predators, nor the people in the house, nor anything except what they have come for. They walk around the remains of the fence that used to guard the prize that they took, and catch a slight scent coming from the directions of the woods. No, not the woods - as they get closer they realize that the scent is coming from the small wooden shed on the border of the woods.
It is the smell of that which they seek, of that which they have come for. There can be no doubt. It is here. They know for sure now that they have come to the right place. They begin searching for it. They will not be denied.
Inside the house the people are just finishing dinner. The windows are all closed against the unseasonable cold. It is still raining lightly. Usually when the weather is like this Marie asks for a fire to help get rid of the dampness inside the house - but she hasn't tonight. Wonder why. Curious.
He decides to surprise her and start a nice wood fire. Going over to the woodstove he sees that there are only a few pieces of kindling - better go to the woodshed and get some firewood. He smiles to himself as he thinks "Boy will Marie be surprised!"
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 20, 2000.
(((((FRLians))))) I love the stories! You all make me smile! :-)
-- Gayla (email@example.com), May 20, 2000.
The beavers are infuriated. There is no way into the shed, and they are sure that the smell is coming from inside it. With each passing moment they become more desperate.
The sound of a door closing carries to them from across the yard. Someone is coming out of the house. Towards them! They run to the back of the shed and hide at the very edge of the dark woods. They watch, and wait.
He goes over to the woodshed and unlatches the door. What's that smell? Hmmm. Odd, it always smells of wood in here - and nothing else - yet there is another smell now, a smell almost like And then, in an instant, he knows. There is jiggle juice here. He thinks "Marie must have hid it in here figuring that I wouldn't be coming to the shed until Fall, since we probably wouldn't need a fire until then." There is some left after all! Yippeee!
He looks around and sees it - the edge of a jiggle juice case sticking out ever so slightly from behind some of the stacked wood. He moves the one big piece of wood that is in front of it to get a better look and CRASH! A bottle of Cuz'n Iggie's best jiggle falls from where it was resting and breaks on the floor. "Crap, er, I mean poopie!" he says aloud. It splashed all over the floor and even onto his shoes and pants. He looks up. Looks like there was one loose bottle resting precariously on - WOW - there are several cases left! Hahahahahahahha . He gets a broom and cleans up the mess as best he can. Now he knows where that broken bottle in the garbage can came from. This one joins it. Too bad.
Back in the shed now. He opens the case and removes a bottle. Seeing the picture on the label, he smiles back at Cuz'n Iggie as he opens it and takes a swig. Then another swig. Weeeeeeeeeeee. After about half the bottle is gone, he puts the cap back on, though only loosely, and rests the bottle on floor. "Better get back now," he thinks. He walks back to the house without any firewood, deliberately - since now he knows why Marie didn't ask for a fire tonight. There won't be any fire, nor any request for one, but so what - he is past caring, and is also past realizing that he forgot to close the woodshed door completely.
Even from where they are, they know that the smell is stronger than it was when they got here. Much stronger. It is driving them crazy! They see the man leaving now. Finally! He walks back towards the house and goes inside. It's time.
They run over to the front of the shed. The door is slightly open! They squeeze inside and are immediately greeted with the strong, unmistakable smell of that which they have come for. They look around. There it is, right on the floor not three feet from them. They both scurry to it, the bigger one clumsily knocking it over. Clank! The cap falls off and the liquid pours out slowly - They begin to drink. They are the happiest beavers east of the Mississippi.
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 20, 2000.
Does anyone else see a bumper crop of beavers coming up?
-- Tricia the Canuck (email@example.com), May 21, 2000.
a hug from helen's possum
-- helen (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 21, 2000.
Morning. Even from here on the deck she can see that the door to the woodshed is open. She knows she closed and latched it. Marie goes out to investigate. Rob is still sleeping - and at this hour too - you would think he was drinking last night!
Before even getting to the shed she notices the tracks. Two pairs, both clear in the damp earth. "I wonder why they came back," Marie thinks. They have never been around here unless they were after something. Strange. She continues on and arrives at the entrance to the shed. She looks inside...
It was the scream that woke him. Rob jumped up out of the bed and was instantly awake. "That's Marie" he knew. Quickly putting on his really bright red socks and robe he goes over to the window. The scream came from outside. He looks. "Oh no", he says aloud, as he realizes where she is - in the woodshed - where he was partying last night. She knows. Finding out about that would make her mad, but why did she scream? It isn't like her to scream. Not at all! Better go and see what scared her. He grabs for the weapon under the bed, just in case, and hurries downstairs and out the door. "Now what the heck made her scream?" he wonders.
-- (email@example.com), May 22, 2000.
He goes inside the shed. He sees Marie. She is curled on the dirt floor. Evidently she fainted. He turns his head to the left and sees the empty bottle, then the bodies - two of them - one larger than the other - both quite dead. "What the... now how did they get in here... and why did they come back?" He puts the weapon down and checks Marie - she seems ok but is still out. He picks her up and begins carrying her to the house. She soon wakes up and insists on walking the rest of the way back to the house. Her only other words to him are; "Take care of the mess back there." She goes in and rests on the couch for an hour or so.
It was a while before they figured things out. The beavers must have come back for the jiggle. They had imbibed the juice that he poured on their dam and wanted more. What they had before was greatly diluted by their pond - but last night they had, by comparison, pure 100% jiggle. It did 'em in.
How they got inside the shed and how they actually managed to open the bottle remained a mystery. Rob only remembered going for firewood, finding and dropping a bottle, taking one from the case and having a 'few sips', and then going back to the house - without any wood.
"Did you take care of that business?" Marie asked.
"Yes. I did it while you were resting" Rob answered.
"Where did you put 'em?"
He smiled as he thought of the answer to that one; "They are in the hole that your Sapling used to be in."
Marie smiled back and said "Now that's ironic, huh? It's Beavers 2, Michael's 2."
"That's right Dear - it's finally over."
"Yes, it really is over for good now" Marie agreed.
Back in their dam less than two miles away, the offspring are active. All of them. Their parents have not come back, but they are old enough to fen for themselves now. They leave the lodge made of mud, stones, and branches and climb up onto the bank of the stream. They see the tracks of their parents in the wet ground and follow them - right through the narrow strip of woods, right to the edge of the lakeshore, right to where the tracks disappear into the water. They look up and see the far shore of the lake, see the house that is there, see where their parents went. They can't swim all that distance, not yet. But someday they will - someday...
-- Goodbye Friends, Be well. (sonofdust@The.End), May 22, 2000.
Ominous music swells as the picture fades to black...
-- helen (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 22, 2000.
Please not "Goodbye"!
Make it "See_ya_soon" instead!
-- Tricia the Canuck (email@example.com), May 23, 2000.
See ya soon?
Hmmmn. Most people don't show their soon's in public.
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 23, 2000.
I know you mean well, dear. But PLEASE don't encourage my evil twin. The oportunities for naughtyness inherent with possum hugs just may be more than he can resist.
Afterall, he did spend his adolescence in a hollow stump in the swamp, devoid of human companionship and influence. And if local rumor can be believed, he has exibited somewhat of an, ah, er....affinity for possums, you might say. So for pity's sake, tread lightly upon the place where his heart would normally be.
And Robbie, just what do you mean, "goodbye friends"? First off, what makes you think we're your friends? And secondly, you KNOW there is only one way out. (Does the line, "Lucha Bratsci sleeps with the fishes" ring a bell?)
So if you think you're gonna be allowed to abscond, and leave us here positively awash in Jiggle-spawned beaver pups, you better think again!
-- Lon Frank (email@example.com), May 23, 2000.
Mr. Frank, thank you for your advice. The possums have been advised that "playing dead" won't cut it this time and they have since enrolled in college. While they do possess opposable thumbs, this perhaps forming the basis of your brother's attraction for them, they lack a well-developed forebrain. In light of this handicap, I regret to inform you that I am sending them to law school.
-- helen (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 23, 2000.
I think we should let helen use all the abscondition's she can get.... weightlifting helps all sorts of muscle groups.
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (email@example.com), May 26, 2000.
Robert, I got your Buns of Steel video RIGHT HERE...
-- helen (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 26, 2000.
Welllllllll young lady, 'tis probably best your buns of steel stay right where they are now...they look a darn site better of there than they'd look over here, and besides, I couldn't rightly see them if they were over here. Behind me, that is.
You never seen my "buns" have you?
See, I don't exactly have hips, being 6'-1" (that 73 for youse metric types!) and kinda skinny and all ---- shoot, if I were ever to jump and down (instead of smoothly sliding around the dance floor while waltzing or foxtrotting) my bluejeans would just up 'n slip right off.
Loose my belt and they'd fall off.
Pull just a little bit, and they slide off - regardless of whether they're fastened or not!
Nope, just can't be....you gotta keep your buns right where they're magetically attached.
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (email@example.com), May 26, 2000.
Hi Helen, still mad@me?
Are buns still cookin?
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 28, 2000.
Robert...I have spent much time worrying about your jeans suddenly falling off. This image has preoccupied my every waking moment. I can't get it out of my mind. You have a real problem there, buddy.
Wear suspenders. If that doesn't work, wear really nice boxers. You wear boxers, don't you? You're not a briefs guy are you? The boxers aren't likely to fall off too, are they? Try duct taping them on. But duct tape won't work if you're well oiled. Let's not go there...
-- helen (email@example.com), May 29, 2000.
Nope, boxers are not a solution, dear lady. Too many loose parts and pieces for that to work.........got enough problems with clothes (capable of) falling off to worry about stuff (capable of) falling out....
Technically, Jean didn't fall off either this weekend. Though when the Sunfish tipped over, she did fall into the lake. (Blamed a gust of wind and the wake from a waverider....but I suspect that fact that she trying to go too fast had a little something to do with it.)
She was however, most emphatically sunburnt on the tops of her legs and kness....not enough sunscreen per square inch I reckon. (Despite, he said parentlally (and parenthetically)) being reminded to add more!)
I was innocently watching from shore, trying hard not to giggle too much .....
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 30, 2000.
Robert, get those precious knees into a cool bath. Be a good boy and take her plenty of cool drinks to keep her well-hydrated. Maybe read to her while she rests. And fan her too. Maybe a pedicure?
-- helen (email@example.com), May 30, 2000.
Lol, Helen. Pushing the limits? ;-)
Robert, I detect just an iota of parental pride, too :-) Tell her we hope her pain goes away soon. (She can decide for herself if that must include you - if she's like Carla, somedays parent=pain).
-- Tricia the Canuck (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 30, 2000.
Pampering can never begin too early in a woman's life...
-- helen (raising@Princess.Arizona), May 31, 2000.
"I should've known," thought Marie. He didn't learn his lesson after all. Well, I'm fixin' that. Back to the basement with him, and this time I'm not letting him out until I am damn sure he's over it. No more of that jiggle juice poison for him. Never again.
And to think he's only been locked up for one lousy week and already he's making a fuss. Men! They can't take things like we can. And they say weare the 'weaker sex'. What poop! If men had to have babies instead of us then humans would've been extinct ages ago.
Yes, it's for Rob's own good that I am doing this. I have to be the strong one. I'm doing what's right. He's stayin' down there this time, until I'm sure. And I know just what to do to see to it that his temptation for that jiggle juice stuff is removed.
-- (email@example.com), May 31, 2000.
Ah, come on Missus Michaels,
We really need old Robbie. What if you was to release him into the personal, guaranteed, custody of me an' cuzzin Iggie? You know us. Why, we're practically pillows of the community. You know we wouldn't let him get in no trouble, and we promise to keep his snoot out of them jiggle juice jars.
Just think on it, O K? I mean we really, really miss him, and all. And besides,he's still got the dad-gum keys to the clown convertible, too!!
-- Lon Frank (firstname.lastname@example.org), May 31, 2000.
Just before dark, she goes over to the dock and dumps the remainder of the open case of jiggle juice bottles into the lake, one at a time. The fiery liquid slowly spills out, splashing down into the cool water. "That's one case down - five more to go," she thinks. "I'll get rid of one case a day until there is no more of the stuff. Maybe by then I can start thinking of letting him out again."
They are ready to try the long swim - no, more than that, they are eager. They go over to where they remember the tracks of their parents were, at the edge of the lakeshore. It's just getting dark. They can clearly make out the sound of splashing, and can see the ripples on the surface at the far shore. Something is there, by the water, bending over it. They wait awhile, watching and listening, as the splashing sound continues.
Finally the person is going away. The splashing noise stops. Maybe that is where their parents are. They decide to investigate. They start swimming over to the far shore, to the area by where the person has just left, to where the splashing came from. The darkness deepens.
-- (email@example.com), June 01, 2000.
The water smells and tastes quite different here. It is not unpleasant. They swim around the dock area for quite some time before deciding to go ashore. As they scamper out of the water, each is surprised to find that they are having some difficulty walking. Yet they are happy - even though they have found no sign of their parents. They decide to go back into the funny-tasting water and play.
Half an hour passes. By now they are Very Happy, and splashing noisily around the dock without a care in the world. The sound of their playing echoes in the stillness of the night - across the yard, to the house, and to the people that live there.
"Now what?" Marie thinks, as she hears the faint noises coming through the slightly open window. She looks down to see that Murphy is pacing back and forth in front of the door leading to the deck and yard. He is agitated. Something is out there.
"No matter," she thinks, "whatever it is will go it's way soon enough." She reaches down, picks Murphy up, and rubs the downy fur behind his ears. A purr begins from somewhere deep inside his throat. In a little while she puts him back down. Instantly he runs back to the door and begins pacing again. His purr is now a low growl.
"Crazy cat!" she says, then goes back to what she was doing, ignoring the cat...
and ignoring the noises outside.
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 01, 2000.
Jean eyes the lake slowly, thinking, scheming of a way to outwit the elders (and who have the car keys) and get the sailboat into lake. 25 more days, she will have her learners permit, perhaps then transporation can be accomplished more stealthily.
The lake itself appears narrow, but perhaps the dam can be enlarged. It will be deeper, wider then. Yes, yes.....and if they cut down a few more trees...there will be less windbreaks to slow the wind and so she can sail faster, more recklessly. So many things to do, so little time.
But she will need help from the local inhabitants to get everything done.........
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (email@example.com), June 01, 2000.
Morning. Marie walks out of the house, goes across the yard, and stops just short of the dock. She sees the young girl in the sailboat heading across the lake and waves hello. "Looks like fun," she thinks. It's that time of year when more and more folks come to the lake for some sun and fun. Already the first day of June!
Marie looks to the side of the dock as she turns to go back to the house. It is then that she freezes.
Tracks. Lots of them. But tracks of what? They all run together and over one another - none clear enough to 'read' - there isn't even any clear sense of direction! What the heck? "Too bad I can't let Rob out yet - he might know what made the tracks," she thinks to herself. "Maybe I'll be able to let him out by the weekend. We'll see. Besides, whatever made the tracks is gone now - gone for good probably."
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 01, 2000.
Sunset. She goes to the dock and dumps another case of jiggle juice into the lake, just as she did yesterday. Her smile widens as each of the bottles is emptied. "Goodbye temptation! Four more cases to go," she says proudly.
It is almost completely dark now. She goes back inside to the comfort of the house.
Without the least bit hesitation they enter the water and start the long swim. They go to the same spot that they had so much fun at last night. The water smells and tastes the same as it did yesterday. They begin to frolic and splash and chatter. Each passing minute they get louder. They are having a good ol' time.
-- (email@example.com), June 01, 2000.
"Not again!" Marie says aloud. This time she is going to have to investigate. She puts on a sweater, turns on the outside light, and steps into the fresh night air.
Splashing noises. Whatever it is, it's down by the lakeshore - like last night. The only other time she remembers hearing any splashing coming from the lake, the noise was made from fish jumping. Although trout usually come up close to the surface, and even close to the shore at night to feed, they are never this noisy. And they sure as heck don't leave tracks! No, it's something else. But what?
She goes back inside and climbs the stairs. Reaching under the bed she feels the hard metal of what she is looking for. She grasps it in both hands, points it down at the floor, and carefully descends the steps. Outside again. The light is still on but does not illuminate the yard all the way down to the lakeshore. She steps out into the night and cautiously heads for the dock. The splashing noises get louder and louder as she approaches. She pauses as she looks down at what she is holding. One quick motion and a double-click sound mingles with the distant splashing. The weapon is ready now, and so is she. Continuing on, she will be able to see what's there in just a few more seconds...
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 01, 2000.
A toast to the story teller.
-- (email@example.com), June 01, 2000.
Yippee! Thank you, whoever you are! (I'll have to save it until I'm done with the story though :)
And while I'm at it, I should tell youz guyz that I actually did intend to stay away - but I couldn't! When I read what some of you wrote, and what Lon said about me leavin you all 'up to your everlastings in beavers' (LOL Lon) I realized the story had to be finished.
See ya later (How's that, Sweet Princess?) Now, back to the story!
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 01, 2000.
She stares at them in total disbelief - eyes wide, mouth agape. Four small beavers are splashing and swimming and rolling and chattering and pounding the surface of the water with their paddle-tails.
They are ROTSLTTO (rolling on the surface laughing their tails off).
She secures the weapon and shakes her head at the sight. It really is something to see. They must be drunk! This jiggle juice stuff seems to affect them even when diluted in the lake.
In an instant she remembers how Rob tried to liquidate the ones that got her Sapling. "Looks like he was on the right track after all," she admits. Who would have thought it! And it must have been these same beavers that made all of that racket last night, and made the tracks. Two nights of me dumping the jiggle, and two nights of them coming here to party. Hmmm."
"Now what?" she wonders. "I guess I'll let Rob out tomorrow morning, and then together we can come up with what to do. Poor wee little beasties!" she says aloud.
She heads back into the house to put the weapon away and begins to try and think of some possible things to do. "And to top it off, there are still four cases of that poison left and now I can't even empty them in the lake. That would be a crime: Contributing to the Delinquency of a Beaver! Yep, I better decide what to do with that poison before I let you-know-who out. And I better decide quick. I'll sleep on it"
-- (email@example.com), June 01, 2000.
Hi Gang! I am out of jail, uh, I mean the basement, but only on one condition, with Three Parts. Dear Mrs. Michael's agreed to let me out if I help her pack up the remaining jiggle juice and return it to Cuz'n Iggie, AND if I promise not to have any more jiggle juice, AND if I help her think of what to do with them there beaver pups. Right now I am finishing putting the shipping labels on the four cases, and I already promised Not to have any more jiggle juice, so next we will be trying to come up with some idea for the juvenile beavers. I'm Free!
Lon: Marie thanks you for your kind offer to keep me in your custody but feels that youz guyz can best help out by taking delivery of the four cases and 'holding' them until this is resolved. Oh Yeah, almost forgot, I probably should mention to ya that each case is insured for $80,000 (since they are all special anniversary vintages). So if anything were to happen to the cases, well, we would be forced to split - lets see, uh - $80,000 times 4 cases is uh, er, uh, Sheesh! Anybody hear from S.O.Bob lately? And Lon, I am sending them to you third class, with a free sample for the mailman to ensure the highest quality service. You should get the jiggle no later than a while from tomorrow. Sound reasonable?
-- Rob Michaels (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 02, 2000.
Now this is good livin! :-)
-- serial satisfaction (email@example.com), June 02, 2000.
"We've been talkin' about this all mornin', but that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard," Marie said. "How can you possibly sit there and tell me that we should make them our pets! I thought you'd be helpful. Maybe I should've kept you locked down there a bit more. Crap. Who ever heard of having beavers as pets."
"Sheesh!" Rob said, "It's you that's taken a hankerin' to 'em and thinks they're 'cute', so what else can we do? After all, they ain't just regular beavers - they're orphaned beavers. Hey! I know! How about I ask my FRL Forum friends for some ideas?"
"You still goin' there and doin' that? I thought you stopped that nonsense after the first of the year! What kind of ideas would they come up with anyway? Those folks are almost as crazy as you!"
"Now don't go talkin' 'bout them like that Dear. There are some really disreputable folks there and they can help us. I'm sure of it. Some of 'em have even won the Nobelian Prize! How about giving it a try? I'll ask them for ideas on what to do 'bout the beavers, and I bet they'll come up with some good ones.
"You - are - a - Nutbag! And I know there's no stoppin' ya from doin' it so ya might as well ask 'em for help. In the meantime, I guess I'll just have to try to come up with something myself, like usual."
"Ok. You'll see. I'll ask them now. Just wait and see what good ideas they can think up."
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 02, 2000.
H E L P! What should we do with four orphaned, somewhat-hung-over, slightly jiggle-juice-addicted juvenile beavers? Please post ideas. Thanks!
-- (email@example.com), June 02, 2000.
I dunno....but we orta' do sumtim afor'in they become 8 of 'em.....
-- What, Me Worry? (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 02, 2000.
Now, now, we Cascadians have so many lakes, ponds, streams, etc. We have a vast wetland system right by us. Nutria do fine. This is the Beaver State.
Send the beavers to the Cascadians!
Besides, it's summertime, and the Michaels need a road trippy vacation.
-- Ashton & Leska in Cascadia (email@example.com), June 02, 2000.
Dusk. They have come.
But the water around the dock doesn't smell or taste the same as it did the previous two evenings. They swim around for awhile, somewhat confused, before leaving the lake and stepping ashore. They wander around the yard - sniffing.
No scent of jiggle juice. None at all.
All but one, the only male of the four, begin returning to the lake for the long swim back to their dam. This one has smelled something on the ground, right by where the Sapling used to be - not jiggle juice, but something else - something familiar. Having reached the edge of the lake, his three sisters turn and see their only brother sniffing furiously. Something interesting must be there! All three decide to turn back and investigate.
They walk around the perimeter fence and sniff. Suddenly it occurs to them, almost to all four at the same time, what it is that they smell. They have found the last resting-place of their parents, and sense, correctly, that they will see them no more. The mystery of where their parents went and why they have not come back is solved. They need look no more. And since there is no jiggle juice around, they just go back to the lake, swim across, and head home to their dam...
with no reason to ever return.
We watched the whole thing from the deck. Sad, really. But Marie is convinced that they will be fine without any interference, uh, I mean help, from us. They'll be OK. I guess that she's right. Anyway, with no more jiggle juice or Saplings to tempt them, I don't think we could've lured them back here and caught them. Besides, what the heck would we do with 'em even if we got 'em? Yep, Marie is probably right, it's for the best this way. After all, they are old enough to take care of themselves, and Nature knows what to do all by itself.
Sometimes the smartest thing we can know is when to do nothing.
A&L: Thanks for the suggestion :) We may take you up on it, depending on how things go!
-- Rob Michaels M.B.A. (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 02, 2000.
I'm so glad the critter problem worked itself out (for now). sorry I wasn't much help, but I kinda had my hands full around here.
After Iggie heard about the Jiggle that Marie dumped in the lake, he crawled up under the henhouse and wouldn't come out for two days. He just wailed and sobbed Made the chickens stop layin', and scared off a whole boatload of tourist folks that Leroy Ledue was takin' on a midnight gator tour.
But the biggest problem was keeping control of my evil twin, Lon Frankenstein. He don't always get the big picture too well, what with that plate in his head and all, and when he heard that the thread was about Marie's beaver problem, well...you just don't wanna know what he kept comin' up with. He made a complete fool outta hisself down at the bait house, tellin' everbody that he could cure anything what ails her. I swear, he even embarrassed the dickens out of me, when he started claimin' he had a doctorate in "recreational gynocology". (fer cryin' out loud)
So, anyway, that dad-gum mailman is missin' too. It were pretty smart of you to insure them cases of juice. If he don't get here soon, we might be bazillionaires. Let's see, 80,000 times four, split amongst the two of us is ......uh......carry the......and de-vide by.....then round up the.....uh.... Well shoot, it would be at least a couple hunnerd apiece, I betya.
Why, with that kinda scratch, we could buy into the JJ factory. Uh, you might not tell your missus about that. There was a sorta agreement I made with her, you know to get you sprung.
Well, I gotta go. It's my turn to hold Iggies head up out of the hog trough. I think he's comin' back to normal - his eyes started lookin' in the same direction today.
-- Lon Frank (email@example.com), June 03, 2000.
Oh, my! The things I miss when I take a couple of days net-free!
Thanks so much for the saga, oh Wondrous Writing Leading Fruitcake!
I'll second the Cascadians: (((((((((FRLians))))))))))
It fills my life with laughter
And my heart with love.
-- Tricia the Canuck (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 03, 2000.
(((Tricia))): You're welcome, Dear and Loyal FRLian, glad you enjoyed it!
FRLians: The following post is only for Lon, so doncha read it unless you are Lon!
Lon: You was more help than ya know, what with havin to look out for both Cuz'n Iggie and E.T. (evil twin). I don't know what I'd a done without ya. Probably still be locked up in that there... Hey! You aint Lon! Stop reading this right now! That's better. Now Lon, bout dem packages. Shhhhh. HAHAHAHA. Anything that valuable has to be signed for, and so I asked how long overdue before an insurance claim could be made and they told me a couple weeks or so. Now here's the good part. You ain't never gonna get dem cases but it's OK - See, the mailman and I sorta go back a ways and he is hiding, uh I mean keeping them up here until I can get 'em all back - Er, all of the cases ceptin one - I had to donate one case to the Mailman Society for the Prevention of Mad Biting Doggies so's he would keep his mouth shut, uh I mean, so's he would fully appreciate our situation. The jiggle ain't even in the mail! So in a couple weeks, we get to claim all the insurance money, and I still have the JJ up here and safe as ya please. HAHAHAHAHA. Shhhhhh. Our secret, OK? And I knowed I could count on ya for some great investment advice - JJ Factory here we come!
-- (sonofdust@forLon.only), June 03, 2000.
-- Ashton & Leska in Cascadia (email@example.com), June 03, 2000.
Now, let's see if I got this sraight, Robbie, you old felonious philanderer, you.
You want I should help you tamper with the mail, bribe a gubment employee, and defraud the insurance company. Is that roughtly correct?
Weeell, I gotta say, it sounds pretty good to me! But if'n Marie get's wind of it, Horatio, I never knew ya.
-- Lon Frank (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 03, 2000.
City dog meets skunk,
Aided by new accomplice
Whew! Country life 'joys'!
-- Brooke (Happiness@hill.top), June 04, 2000.
Brooke, I loved that! Was it for me??? :-)
This is for you :
Emerald green grass
Lush trees, beautiful flowers
Contrast memory's snow!
Rob, however you managed to persuade Marie to let you out of the basement, I'm very grateful. Your posts always make me think, laugh or do both. Got any interesting questions percolating lately?
-- Tricia the Canuck (email@example.com), June 04, 2000.
Yes, it was for you! I'd hoped you'd like it; thought you'd surely see the ?humor? in the situation! :-)
Glad you're enjoying the lush, life-affirming spring! 'Tis wonderful!
-- Brooke (Happiness@hill.top), June 05, 2000.
Miss Brooke in the Forest,
Was that a "humorous" or "Whew-Much-More!" moment?
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 05, 2000.
T'was one of those "I'm glad it wasn't worse" moments...more humorous than Whew!. . .
This time, anyhow. . . :-)
-- Brooke (Happiness@hill.top), June 06, 2000.
Lon: Yep, you got it straight alright! Won't be long now till we're on easy street :)
Tricia: Lots of questions (most without answers naturally :), but I'm not sure where, if anywhere, to ask them! BTW, thanks for the kind words.
-- (email@example.com), June 06, 2000.
Dear Sir, dear sir, dear sir....I am amazed and graced that you would deem ANY question "not askable" in the midst of such erstute talent and fair ladies as we have here......
.. Course, the answers you get back may be a bit different than expected.....
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 06, 2000.
Rob...we didn't get to name the beaver babies. I wanna name the beaver babies. I wanna debate the names for months with all the other peoples here. Please bring the beaver babies back.
-- helen (email@example.com), June 06, 2000.
What an unusual discovery we have made about the four beaver pups! The male, his sisters, and also the, well, I'll get to that in a bit
The beavers have come back every night at dusk - without fail, and without reason. Usually they stay in the water and play by the dock, but sometimes one or more of them will venture into the yard. They seem to like it around here, even though their dam is a mile away and there is no more jiggle juice. They stay an hour or so, and then swim back to the far shore and go back to their lodge.
Every evening, except for last night when it rained, Marie and I stay outside on the deck and watch them cavorting in the water. Even after watching them for just this short time, it is apparent that each has it's own unique personality.
The male is the largest, clumsiest, and the most adventurous of the group.
One of the females is almost as large as the male, and usually is the most playful of the lot. She stays in the water playing to the last minute and is always the last to follow back to the dam.
The smaller female is very shy and cautious by nature. Anytime Marie or I (or even Murphy) go by the dock, she always tries to hide behind her larger sister or brother, until we go away.
The other beaver is neither male nor female - or perhaps I should say it is both. That is, when we were watching them swim with their backs on the water we noticed that one of them had a combination of naughty bits. Both male and female parts! We had never heard of such a thing, but a friend told us that there is actually a word to describe this: androgynous!
Hope this helps youz guyz with giving them names :)
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 07, 2000.
just how far can jiggle juice go?
(and, of course....the androgynous one should be named Pat......)
-- mebs (email@example.com), June 07, 2000.
Why are you naming Andy Pat? Or should we name Pat Andy? Why? Is Who still second, backing up What's at first when third is playing second at short?
Why are you Patting Andy? Is Andy patting himself? Patting Herself? Patting themselves?
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 08, 2000.
Mebs, now I'm going to have nightmares! Thank God there are no beavers around here as far as I can tell. However, just to be on the safe side, I'm going to have to purchase some night vision goggles and a high powered rifle. And maybe some new stereo equipment. (very important in the fight against crazed beavers)
-- kritter (email@example.com), June 08, 2000.
Eeny, Meeny, Miney, and Pat?
-- helen (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 09, 2000.
We received the phone call inviting us to the party earlier this week, but Marie forgot to tell me about it until yesterday. It is for Bill, my buddy since grade school, and our mailman all these years. (You know he must really be a good buddy for me to trust him with those three remaining cases of jiggle juice! :) Looks like he's finally going to retire from the post office. Ann, his wife, is throwing the party as a surprise, and it is set for tonight. Should be a lot of fun. They live on the other side of the lake, about a 20-minute walk from us.
On our way to the party, Marie and I reminisce a bit about Ann and Bill. They met at a Bar-B-Q we had at our house 10 years ago this summer. Ann, a relatively new neighbor at the time, instantly hit it off with Bill. She had never been married before, and Bill was divorced at the time. I guess you could say it was a case of opposites attracting. Bill is wild - a fun-loving free spirit, sometimes to the point of getting into a little trouble, while Ann is level-headed, cautious, and methodical. Marie and I sometimes laugh at how much she and Ann are alike, and how much Bill and I are too.
Both Ann and Marie are fond of saying that they each spend much of their time trying to keep their hubby's 'in line', for their own good. Only a brief glance into either of their faces is needed to see that all of the wheels are turning smoothly behind their pretty eyes.
We arrive and see no signs that a party is going on. Most of the people attending are neighbors who have walked here, and the other guests are family members that have parked next door so as not to spoil the surprise. Ann arranged to have Bill go fishing with his father-in-law, who'll make sure they don't come back early. I glance at my watch. They should be back in half an hour. We go into the house, say hello to everyone, and figure out where we will stay until they come home and we all yell "Surprise!" to 'Wild Bill'.
The minutes pass as we wait in anticipation. Marie and I are by the front window, peering out from behind a curtain that faces the lake. Eventually she spots Bill's boat approaching the shore and then docking. They are out of the boat now and walking to the house. Everyone hushes and gets ready.
Little do I guess that Bill isn't the only one who's going to be surprised this evening.
-- (email@example.com), June 09, 2000.
"SURPRISE!" The lights all go on as Bill's favorite song, "The Chicken Dance", reverberates throughout the house. "DiEtEr would be happy," I think to myself with a smile. Bill stands there, obviously surprised, the silver and gold-colored lures on his cap and fishing vest reflecting the bright room lights. He starts laughing as Ann goes over and plants a kiss on him. Everyone hoots and claps. The party has started.
Most of the men stay in the living room and begin discussing the Big Game last night. How the heck did the Devils miss getting a goal! Sheesh! Now it is back to Texas where the Stars get a chance to tie it up. After a while, the subject turns to another favorite subject: how, where, when, and on what the fish are biting.
The ladies congregate in the adjacent dining room and begin uncovering all of the food, drinks, and treats. Most of the conversations revolve around the various foods and deserts on the table. Everyone brought something to eat. Marie made a chocolate cheesecake that is a favorite of Ann's. Everyone also brought a present for Bill, and since the house is relatively small, Ann put them all out of the way until later. After only a short time, they announce that everything is ready, and we all begin eating our favorite things, and sampling just about everything else.
"Hey Bill, I meant to ask ya" said Rob in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "How is that stuff I gave ya to hold for me?" "Ya mean that jiggle juice?" asked Bill, smiling, with a hushed tone. Rob nodded.
"It's fine buddy - just fine. I got it hid in the basement, down on my workbench. Ann won't be going by there. Seldom does. No reason to. Besides, even if she did, having never seen jiggle juice, she wouldn't recognize what the cases are."
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 09, 2000.
"Great party Ann! Do you want to serve the cake and coffee now?" asked Marie.
"No, I think we'll give folks a bit more time to digest and make room. Besides, we have to 'do' the presents. Can you help me bring them up now? They're down in the basement."
-- (email@example.com), June 09, 2000.
They walk down the stairs and into the always-cool air of the basement. Ann grabs two arms worth of presents and turns to head back up the stairs. Marie grabs the remaining two large-sized presents from the workbench and turns to follow Ann. It is then that what she just glimpsed underneath the presents registers with her. Instantly, she turns back.
"No. It can't be!" she says to herself. She looks again at what the presents were resting on: three cases of Cuz'n Iggie's jiggle juice - anniversary vintage...
with shipping labels...
the same three cases that Rob was supposed to have shipped a week ago!
"Ann?" she calls. "You better come back here. I, uh, I have to show you something. It's important."
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 09, 2000.
After examining the cases and shipping labels, it took them all of 10 long seconds to put the pieces together and figure out what their hubby's were up to this time.
This was trouble. They had to do something. Do something soon, or there would be even bigger trouble later. Now was not the time or place though. They decided quickly to get together tomorrow and figure out what to do.
Having made that decision, they brought up the gifts and joined the party again. You would never guess from looking at either of them that indeed, the wheels were turning.
-- (email@example.com), June 09, 2000.
The early-morning sun burns fiercely in the cloudless blue sky, portending even more heat than yesterday. Rob is outside when the phone rings. "I'll get it Rob," Marie calls. He turns back to his work. She picks up the phone and watches him through the window.
"Hi Ann. Does Bill suspect that we found out?" "No. How about Rob?" "Not a clue." "Good." "Any ideas?" "Well, I don't think we have a choice," Ann said. "We have to ship them out to Cuz'n Iggie since there is a record of them being sent. Fooling with mail is a federal offense I think - Bad News. Besides, this way we will not only be rid of the stuff, but nobody will be able to do something even more stupid - like try and claim any insurance money." "Yep. I came to the same conclusion," said Marie. "But I remember that there were four cases, not just the three we found. "You're right. I found the fourth case down there too - but without any shipping labels. And it's been opened. Bill's been into it. Just like them two, ain't it?" "Idiots!" said Marie. "Both of them. What would they do without us? Probably be in jail, or dead more likely than not." "Damn right. Ok. I'll load the three cases in the car and ship them today, like they should have been last week, and then we can deal with what to do with the remaining opened case. Maybe I'll just empty those bottles into the lake." "NO!" cried Marie. "You can't do that! The beavers!" "Huh? What beavers? What are you" "Sheesh! It's a long story, Ann. Just don't put that stuff in the lake ok?" "Ok, I won't. Now what are we going to do about these nutbag husbands of ours?" "There has to be hell to pay this time," Marie said ominously. "Damn right" Ann agreed. "Don't worry, we'll think of something. Something special."
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 10, 2000.
Marie is in the shower when the phone rings. Rob gets it. It's Bill.
"What do ya mean they're gone? Poop! How can they be gone? You told me just last night that everything was fine! You kiddin?"
"No. Things were fine, but they're gone now I tell ya. All except for the one case ya gave me for myself. Ann musta got 'em and did something with 'em. And who knows what! Maybe last night at the party she talked to Marie and..."
"That's it! I don't know how but they must be in this together. We're in some real pretty stuff now! What are we gonna do? WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO?"
"How should I know, Rob! This whole thing was your idea!"
"I'm getting' outta here. NOW! Disappear for awhile. Marie must be madder 'n hell. AAARRRGGGHHH! Goodbye!"
-- (email@example.com), June 10, 2000.
BUSTED!!! Ha ha! Who will outwit who? I'm betting on the wives!
-- kritter (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 10, 2000.
"Geez!" Bill says to himself after Rob hangs up. "Ann will be home from food shopping soon. If Marie told her there are four cases, she'll find it in no time flat. Better empty those remaining bottles from my case and get rid of them along with the box. No evidence! Better do it now."
He goes downstairs to where he hid the case. It is undisturbed. "She didn't find it yet," he thinks to himself. He grabs it, carries it upstairs, takes a quick look in the driveway to be sure she isn't around, then heads for the bathroom. "I'll flush 'em down and then get rid of the empties afterwards." He gets the first bottle, which is only about half-full, and removes the cap. "Geez! This stuff sure smells potent. Too potent. If I flush it down she may be able to still smell it later. Better think of something else." As he puts the cap back on, an idea pops into his head. He picks up the case again, and goes outside,
directly to the lake.
Twenty minutes later, Bill hears the car, and turns around as he puts the last of the empty bottles in the garbage bag. The job is done. Ann steps out of the car with several packages and Bill goes over to lend a hand. They are almost to the door of the house when they here the splashing noises. They turn at the same time towards the lake.
"What the hell?" Bill says. "I never remember seeing so many beavers 'round here before!" He turns to Ann and is surprised by the expression on her face... an expression that could sour milk.
After the groceries are put away, Ann picks up the phone. "Ok, Marie. Let's talk about beavers."
-- (email@example.com), June 10, 2000.
"What a story!" Ann remarked. "Absolutely unbelievable, Marie! If it was anyone else telling me this I would think that they were nuts." She hangs up and looks out the window toward the lake. The beavers are still there - all four of them. "Drunker 'n skunks probably. Who ever heard of such a thing."
"And to think that nutball Rob tried to escape last night. I don't blame Marie for hiding all of his keys and making him sleep in the car. That's just the beginning of his troubles. It's going up to almost 100 degrees today too, and he's staying outside. Tomorrow will be just as bad. Any wonder she didn't kill him with that frying pan. Probably will have a lump on his dumb ol' head for a week. Serves him right. That reminds me..."
"Bill... honey? Come here sweetheart. I have something to give you."
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 10, 2000.
All of their playing in the heat and jiggle-juiced water has left them hungry. They leave the water and climb up onto the shore. They have never been here before, though this house is situated in almost the same part of the yard as the one they visited across the lake. The woods are also on the other side of this property, and there is no woodshed. Other than these differences, the two properties are remarkably the same. There is one thing though that catches their attention; something that the other yard doesn't have, at least doesn't have any longer...
something that reaches towards the heavens as it sways in the hot gentle breeze coming off the lake...
something that is alive...
something that looks good to eat.
-- (email@example.com), June 10, 2000.
They sniff their prey and are about to start gnawing when the sound of a door slamming reaches their ears. They turn to see two people approaching them - and also approaching what they are about to feast on. They are scared of the two people and, turning all at the same time, the four leave and go back into the water.
Bill is holding his head and moaning, as Ann grips his arm tightly with one hand.
She is holding rope and duct tape in her other hand.
She escorts him to the Sapling.
-- (sonofdust@poor.Bill), June 10, 2000.
"That'll fix 'em" Marie told Ann.
"Yup. And I told him the story of what the beavers did to both of your saplings. This tree is the same kind too - a flowering plum."
"Well, that'll do it I guess. How long are you going to leave him tied to it?"
"Until you let Rob back in. Let them both cook a bit out there. Give them plenty of time to let them think about what they were trying to pull behind our backs and how stupid they are."
"Sounds good, Ann. The heat wave is supposed to last until tomorrow night - maybe some thunder storms then."
"I hope so. A little thunder and lightening while they are out there will be good for them both."
"Um, one thing Ann. Those four beavers aren't just your average critters."
"You don't think they would attack the tree with him tied to it do you?"
"Now there's an idea!" laughed Marie. "Would serve him right if you ask me. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see."
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 10, 2000.
-- helen (email@example.com), June 10, 2000.
Dusk. Even now the temperature is in the upper eighties. Marie hears the phone ringing as Murphy savors his favorite meal - a plate of tuna that she just put down for him.
"Hi Ann, I had a feeling it was you. Guess what? Rob passed out! I had to bring him inside temporarily. The heat really got to him. That was a couple of hours ago. He's better now, so I decided another night of sleeping in the car couldn't hurt. He's out there now. I don't think I have the heart to leave him out there all day tomorrow though."
"Well Marie, I went out a little while ago too and took the duct tape off of Bill's mouth and every other word was 'sorry' so I left it off. He's still tied up good to the tree though. Think I'll let him spend the night there so as to make sure the lesson sinks in good. No sign of the beaver pups. Do you think our husbands learned anything this time?"
"Yes, but I don't know how long the good behavior will last. Rob is staying out there tonight again regardless. I'll see how things are tomorrow before deciding what to do then. It's supposed to be another scorcher - upper 90's and humid like today."
"I heard. We'll just have to deal with it. Maybe we'll have some thunder storms to break it up and bring in cooler weather. Anyway, got to go now. I'll check in with you in the morning ok? Bye."
She has been feeding very well since waking up from hibernation several months ago, and weighs almost 600 pounds now. Her cubs have also gained considerable weight and size. Together they lumber through the darkening woods after foraging successfully for the last hour. Now they are thirsty. She turns towards where she knows the nearest water supply is - only a few hundred yards away. The cubs slowly follow her. They are headed directly for the lakeshore,
and Bill's back yard.
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 10, 2000.
-- helen (email@example.com), June 10, 2000.
She trudges from the woods into the yard and is now only twenty feet from the water - and from Bill - and is heading directly towards the lakeshore for her drink. Bill is facing the other way, and doesn't see her - nor does he see the two cubs that are about to come out of the woods following her. All despite the fact that a surprising amount of light from tonight's half-moon illuminates the yard.
Instead he is thinking about the fact that he is missing what is the biggest hockey game of the year, and he is imagining the beginning of a future conversation:
"So what did ya think of the big game Bill?"
"Didn't see it. I was tied to a tree that night."
By now she has reached the lake and begins to drink. Her two cubs see her, and then see the tree - and something that is tied to it. They go over to investigate, side by side.
Bill catches movement from the corner of his eye and turns his head. He stands stock still - all thoughts of the big game, and of everything else, completely forgotten.
They sniff the air and walk directly towards him. He pees his pants as they get closer, still unable to move. He is holding his breath. They are right next to him now.
The smaller of the two sniffs him, raises it's hind leg, wets him, and saunters off to where it's mother is drinking contentedly. The second cub also pees on him, then follows its sibling.
He exhales finally, as drops of stinging sweat enter his eyes. He manages to turn his head almost all of the way around and sees both of the cubs - and their mother. He watches as she turns her head and sees her cubs leisurely approaching her - and at the same time she also sees him. It is then that his eyes close, and he knows no more
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 10, 2000.
Dead of night. Quiet.
A blood-curdling scream rips through the night as Bill suddenly wakes from his nightmare. Or did it really happen?
"What the hell was that?" Ann groggily wonders.
The light in the house goes on. She is awake. "Was that Bill?"
In no time she is running out of the house, flashlight in hand. She is trying to understand what he is saying but he is mostly incoherent. She unties him and brings him inside the house. His clothes are soaked and he smells awful - and he looks even worse. She puts a pot of coffee on and sends him to the bathroom for a shower - a cold one. It's going to be a long night.
Across the lake Murphy's ears perk up, and he is now awake and alert. Marie sleeps on, not having heard anything. Outside in the car, Rob is listening to the game on a Baygen radio that he always keeps in the trunk. He was cranking it to power it up again when the scream echoed across the water. He heard nothing but the sound of the crank turning.
He looks across the lake and sees the light shining from the house. "Lucky Bill. At least he gets to see the game," Rob thinks.
-- (email@example.com), June 11, 2000.
Yes, he got to listen to the NEW JERSEY DEVILS WIN THE STANLEY CUP!!! WOOHOO!!! Oh, sorry...go on...
(Imagine the combination of three different pees on yer pants...ick) (Please dont have the baby bears eat the baby beavers..I couldnt deal with that..even if they are marinating at the moment.)
-- kritter (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 11, 2000.
"Wow! Do you believe him, asked Marie?"
"Well, Ann said, I wasn't sure until this morning, when I went down to the shore and saw all of the tracks. Poor Bill! It must have been terrifying! He's learned his lesson this time. I just know it! And to top it all off those darn beavers came back and took the sapling. Gnawed it clean through about a foot above the ground. I found part of it down by the shore. It must of happened after everything else. What a night!"
"Incredible! Rob is still out there, whining about everything - the heat, getting sun burned, the lump on his head, even how he missed watching that silly game last night. I think he is close to being sorry enough. I'll probably bring him in soon. Don't want him to pass out again. Besides, he isn't going to try anything else for a while - a long while. Neither is Bill. They both sure are something else, aren't they?"
"What a pair, Ann agrees. So ends the latest chapter."
-- (sonofdust@The.End), June 11, 2000.
The wives win .. WOOHOO! (and the baby beavers won too,...) Did we ever name them? (besides Pat..which was a given?)
-- kritter (email@example.com), June 11, 2000.
Helen named the others 'Eneey, Meeny and Miney' I think, and Mebs gets credit for 'Pat'. It looks like you won a bet too kritter!
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 11, 2000.
So I've been busy the past week. I really don't care about hockey (yeah, I know, The Odd Canuck!), but to miss a Rob saga!!! Well, at least I got to see it now :-)
-- Tricia the Canuck (email@example.com), June 11, 2000.
Rob has always tickled our funnybone. Don't stop!
-- Ashton & Leska in Cascadia (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 12, 2000.
Pat wasn't a given. Pat was Andy, the beaver.
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (email@example.com), June 13, 2000.
ashton and leska.... i don't know about you two..... but i'm finding rob's whole "mebs---- andy-----pat" thing not only funny, but kinda spooky!
next thing you know he'll be mentioning gold! hehehe
-- mebs (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 14, 2000.
I just figured out where all DiEtEr'S capitals came from.......
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (email@example.com), June 14, 2000.
mebs: Spooky? Hmmm. Must be an inside joke between you and A&L. Even though I'm inside now I still don't get it! Perhaps if I tried reading your inside joke when I was outside, while looking in a mirror?!?! Now, bout that gold... I'll try :) Any other requests for the next installment?
Robert, Good Sir: I don't know what you are talking about either. Care to enlighten me on these DiEtEr letters?
FRLians: This week the FRL is a year and a half old! We wretched this point on 6/11, exactly 18 months after the first FRL thread was started. Happy Anniversary!
Long live our Fruitcake Freedoms! Long live the FRL!
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 14, 2000.
Oh Vay.... or however that's spelled.....
The lovely miss "mebs" lost all her capitals, and and doesn't know where to find them.
They followed her to DiEtEr one day, and now they're all smaller ones.
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (email@example.com), June 14, 2000.
Ah Ha! Now I see. Thank you Good Sir.
mebs: Ok. I wrote up the next part of the story and included what you mentioned - but you'll have to wait 'till the end to see how it is mentioned! :)
I'll probably just start a new thread since this one's getting a bit long now. See youz guyz there I hope!
-- (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 14, 2000.
A new thread is a great idea, but Rob, you forgot to call it a FRL thread!!!
Kritter, can you fix that for us?
Continuity is required y'know!
-- Tricia the Canuck (email@example.com), June 14, 2000.
A technical question for the assembled masses.....and mistresses. And their matterresses. Or matterlessesses.
What is the #23 (or should it be 24 ) FRL thread?
-- Robert A. Cook, PE (Marietta, GA) (firstname.lastname@example.org), June 20, 2000.
Well, the saga of the beavers continues on the thread "More Silly Stories", so I guess that should be #23, but Rob forgot to add the number or the FRL designation, so I think that *you* can start one if you like :-)
I've already done my share of thread starting, so I'll just add my $.02 (C) every once in a while.
-- Tricia the Canuck (email@example.com), June 20, 2000.