Foo Ling came running down the beach at the edge of the world and you could tell by the way he was running that he had just invented something he thought was cool.
The Lion Heart, Bob, Mad Max, that guy named George, Sir Frederick Black and that certain witch he was so found of, were all there on the beach toasting marsh-mellows, making smores and drinking really bad coffee out of a big pump thermos that George had brought with him from Roscoe’s Half Way Cafe.
They saw him coming a long way off.
He ran up panting.
“Good to see you, Foo Ling,” the Lion Heart said.
“Yes, it’s been such a long time since we’ve seen you here,” said Bob the grand mage.
“Well, it’s different for me. I have to meditate really hard,” said Foo Ling.
“How do you meditate hard?” George asked.
Foo Ling stopped to consider this and immediately began to fade away. Bob the grand mage reached out and grabbed him quick as he could, which was quicker than you or I could have done it; Bob was after all a grand mage (and no slouch either). Foo Ling stabilized and nodded his thanks.
“What is this outlandish looking contraption?” that certain witch asked.
“It’s my latest invention...”
There was an awkward silence as they all waited for him to go on.
“What is it?” Sir Frederick Black rarely missed a cue.
“An Egg Un-scrambler.” Foo Ling said with obvious pride.
“You actually built a machine for unscrambling eggs? I think you got something there!” Mad Max said. “I always have to throw a limited space time reversal spell. But now you got this thing: I’ll take one.”
“What the heck are you going to do with it?” she said undaunted by the elbow to the ribs Bob gave her.
“Do you have any idea how many chefs would give their eye teeth for this thing?” Foo Ling replied unperturbed.
“Make us all one.” Bob said. “Can it put it back in the shell too?”
Foo Ling gave him a hurt look. “Still working on that part,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Well, there went all the bird sales.” Sir Frederick Black said, but he said it good-naturedly.
“How `bout a nice cuppa coffee?” George asked.
A really long time ago there was a certain province in China where you could get unscrambled eggs of every description plus a couple more. Then they came up with egg drop soup and demand really fell off. Foo Ling never really marketed his inventions for too long because he was always coming up with something new; so his inventions didn’t spread as far and wide as you’d first think without somebody pushing it.
It’s too bad too, `cause just think where we’d be today if his silicon based personal computing device would have caught on back then.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Aurthur And Looise
Loopey Looise was eating her vegetables one morning while waiting for her clothes to dry.
She was still in them.
She had gone for a pre-dawn swim in Lake Kaneer. Loopey Looise always ate all her vegetables no matter how long it took. Just before she finished Sir Wallace Aurthur Grey was knocking on the big door at the entrance to her tower.
“Aurthur, what brings you here so late in the evening?”
“Got any mushrooms?”
“What kind?”
“Big purple and yellow ones L. Looise. What do you mean what kind? The kind.”
“Oh,” she nodded knowingly, but said nothing.
“Well?” Wallace Grey said just a tad testily.
“The well is in the back, where it always is.” She said with a vague frown.
“No, no, no. The mushrooms. Do you have any?”
“What kind?”
Wallace Grey exhaled loudly. “Magic Mushrooms.”
“Of course.” By this time they were back in the breakfast room and Loopey Looise resumed munching on her cauliflower. She swallowed and then said “would you like some?”
More patiently than you might think he said, “Yes L. Looise, I would like some.”
“Then I’ll go get you some.” She reappeared a full three hours later with a huge bag of mushrooms, wild flowers and red tree bark.
Wallace Grey had fallen asleep in the comfy chair by the bay window in her study. He opened one eye when she came in.
Her white flowing sundress was now wet again and the thing stuck to her like only wet cloth can. For the first time Wallace A. Grey noted that she was all woman, shapely too.
“Here,” she said dumping a good 15 or 20 pounds in front of him.
“I thought you might just have had some in a jar or something. Where the heck did you go?” Wallace Grey stretched his arms and began grooming his tail.
“To where the mushrooms are.”
“I could have gone myself, but I obviously didn’t know where they grow.”
“Arthur? Are you admitting that you didn’t know something?”
Wallace Grey rolled his eyes. “There are two kinds of knowledge: that from within and that from without. Information on where mushrooms grow can be deduced, but isn’t it easier to just go ask some one who already knows.”
“Like me?” Loopey Looise was blushing.
“Like you.”
“Let’s gobble these up and then go visit the Lion Heart on the beach at the edge of the world!”
“That wasn’t exactly my plan...But why not? I rarely get to spend much time with you or him lately. Perhaps we can all three be together.”
“Perhaps.”
It wasn’t long before they were dancing in the sand on the beach at the edge of the world.
She was still in them.
She had gone for a pre-dawn swim in Lake Kaneer. Loopey Looise always ate all her vegetables no matter how long it took. Just before she finished Sir Wallace Aurthur Grey was knocking on the big door at the entrance to her tower.
“Aurthur, what brings you here so late in the evening?”
“Got any mushrooms?”
“What kind?”
“Big purple and yellow ones L. Looise. What do you mean what kind? The kind.”
“Oh,” she nodded knowingly, but said nothing.
“Well?” Wallace Grey said just a tad testily.
“The well is in the back, where it always is.” She said with a vague frown.
“No, no, no. The mushrooms. Do you have any?”
“What kind?”
Wallace Grey exhaled loudly. “Magic Mushrooms.”
“Of course.” By this time they were back in the breakfast room and Loopey Looise resumed munching on her cauliflower. She swallowed and then said “would you like some?”
More patiently than you might think he said, “Yes L. Looise, I would like some.”
“Then I’ll go get you some.” She reappeared a full three hours later with a huge bag of mushrooms, wild flowers and red tree bark.
Wallace Grey had fallen asleep in the comfy chair by the bay window in her study. He opened one eye when she came in.
Her white flowing sundress was now wet again and the thing stuck to her like only wet cloth can. For the first time Wallace A. Grey noted that she was all woman, shapely too.
“Here,” she said dumping a good 15 or 20 pounds in front of him.
“I thought you might just have had some in a jar or something. Where the heck did you go?” Wallace Grey stretched his arms and began grooming his tail.
“To where the mushrooms are.”
“I could have gone myself, but I obviously didn’t know where they grow.”
“Arthur? Are you admitting that you didn’t know something?”
Wallace Grey rolled his eyes. “There are two kinds of knowledge: that from within and that from without. Information on where mushrooms grow can be deduced, but isn’t it easier to just go ask some one who already knows.”
“Like me?” Loopey Looise was blushing.
“Like you.”
“Let’s gobble these up and then go visit the Lion Heart on the beach at the edge of the world!”
“That wasn’t exactly my plan...But why not? I rarely get to spend much time with you or him lately. Perhaps we can all three be together.”
“Perhaps.”
It wasn’t long before they were dancing in the sand on the beach at the edge of the world.
Saddle Light Dish
Charlie the Cheetah and Larry the Leopard were sunning themselves on a big gray rock that rose up in the middle of the plain. They were surrounded by herds of zebra, gazelle, antelope, wilder beasts and rambling baboons.
“I’m telling you: it’s aliens.” Larry was saying.
“It’s not either aliens. It’s them wacky naked apes getting weird again.”
“It’s aliens.”
“No, it’s just naked apes. They put tranquilizer darts in their guns instead of bullets. Then they do nasty experiments on you and put annoying tags on your ear.”
“What about Skinny Albert? Disappeared for a while then came back with a tattoo he can’t remember getting and a yellow collar. He says ever since they always know where he is.”
“What’s yer point?” Charlie said stretching. “It’s them naked apes studying us again. They feel so guilty about it they got a story in their collective unconscious about creatures that do it to them. Those are the aliens.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw this TV show where they get taken to a planet where chimps rule the world. The naked apes get experimented on--did you see it?”
“Nope.”
“Apparently enough of them did to get that Hundredth Monkey thing going. It’s on cable all the time. They made like fifty of them shows.”
“No cable where I’m at.”
“We oughtta get a saddle light dish.”
“Yeah!” Larry said rolling over. “500 channels, and I bet one talks about aliens kidnapping wilder beasts and innocent lions.”
“It’s naked apes.”
“Jury’s still out.” Larry the Leopard said.
“It’s not aliens.”
“Maybe it’s naked apes and occasionally aliens.”
Long pause.
Charlie nodded pensively. “Okay, maybe...but...”
They never did decide.
“I’m telling you: it’s aliens.” Larry was saying.
“It’s not either aliens. It’s them wacky naked apes getting weird again.”
“It’s aliens.”
“No, it’s just naked apes. They put tranquilizer darts in their guns instead of bullets. Then they do nasty experiments on you and put annoying tags on your ear.”
“What about Skinny Albert? Disappeared for a while then came back with a tattoo he can’t remember getting and a yellow collar. He says ever since they always know where he is.”
“What’s yer point?” Charlie said stretching. “It’s them naked apes studying us again. They feel so guilty about it they got a story in their collective unconscious about creatures that do it to them. Those are the aliens.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw this TV show where they get taken to a planet where chimps rule the world. The naked apes get experimented on--did you see it?”
“Nope.”
“Apparently enough of them did to get that Hundredth Monkey thing going. It’s on cable all the time. They made like fifty of them shows.”
“No cable where I’m at.”
“We oughtta get a saddle light dish.”
“Yeah!” Larry said rolling over. “500 channels, and I bet one talks about aliens kidnapping wilder beasts and innocent lions.”
“It’s naked apes.”
“Jury’s still out.” Larry the Leopard said.
“It’s not aliens.”
“Maybe it’s naked apes and occasionally aliens.”
Long pause.
Charlie nodded pensively. “Okay, maybe...but...”
They never did decide.
Maury
Maury was a pretty pink and gray butterfly. She flitted about drinking nectar and shaking pollen off her legs, usually onto plants that needed pollinating, as nature intended. One day she was floating on a merry little breeze in a place the Indians named Wetonka in a place some other guys still call South Dakota when she saw the most glorious monarch butterfly flying by.
Her mouth dropped open.
“Wow,” she said silently.
“It’s mating season,” said the monarch, whose name was Larry. “I’m off to Mexico.”
“Why the heck do you want to go all the way to Mexico?”
“Funny you should ask...” Larry went on and on about ancestral habit, weather, tradition and more.
It bored the crap out of Maury.
If only she knew how many scientists--well, bug studiers anyway, wanted the full and detailed explanation Larry was giving.
“Well, have a nice trip,”
“Blah, blah, blah blah blah, blah, blah...”
“Okay, I’m going to go now...”
“Blah, blah-blah, blah blah blah...”
“Right. I’m off.”
She managed to get away almost an hour later.
“Darn it, he was so good looking,” she said to Iloher (Ill-low-here) her friend confidant and platonic bed partner a little later that day. “But he just wouldn’t shut up. You can’t even imagine. He went on and on and on. Worse than I am right now.”
“Well...maybe some day your prince will come and not just some monarch.”
“You’re not even funny.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“Wow,” she said silently.
“It’s mating season,” said the monarch, whose name was Larry. “I’m off to Mexico.”
“Why the heck do you want to go all the way to Mexico?”
“Funny you should ask...” Larry went on and on about ancestral habit, weather, tradition and more.
It bored the crap out of Maury.
If only she knew how many scientists--well, bug studiers anyway, wanted the full and detailed explanation Larry was giving.
“Well, have a nice trip,”
“Blah, blah, blah blah blah, blah, blah...”
“Okay, I’m going to go now...”
“Blah, blah-blah, blah blah blah...”
“Right. I’m off.”
She managed to get away almost an hour later.
“Darn it, he was so good looking,” she said to Iloher (Ill-low-here) her friend confidant and platonic bed partner a little later that day. “But he just wouldn’t shut up. You can’t even imagine. He went on and on and on. Worse than I am right now.”
“Well...maybe some day your prince will come and not just some monarch.”
“You’re not even funny.”
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Bertram
Bertram was a bear, not a cute hug-able bear, but a big, bad ass grizzly bear with an attitude. Bertram was the kind of bear Indians used hate to run into. He wasn’t stupid and the Great Spirit was strong inside him. This made him clever, but also cautious.
He didn’t throw his weight around--much.
He was getting older and grouchier with every year. He had lots and lots of offspring spread out through North America. Chances are the bear in your zoo is related to this old cuss.
Bertram was waking up from a long nap, not hibernation just a lazy Sunday snooze when he got the idea in his head to go pick berries down by a certain stream. He wasn’t a berry picker really, it was more of a roving hurricane that blew past, taking all types of fruit, nuts, berries, even roots and what have you with it.
Bertram chewed carefully on a paw full of wild raspberries that also contained an unlucky grasshopper or two, he had been so busy eating he hadn’t noticed he was now down near the rapids, where quite a few other grizzly bears were having a hay day eating salmon.
Bertram stood up on his hind legs to get a better picture of the situation.
On the opposite bank, there was a grizzly bear that was huge and beautiful and female and though Bertram didn’t get the urge that much anymore, (he was after all sixty-nine) this bear turned his head. He sauntered down to the water and took a bath all the while noting where she was. She had two cubs that were just old enough to be on their own soon.
“Rats,” Bertram thought to himself. “They’re always more receptive when they don’t have kids.” He forgot that it was because males sometimes killed cubs and not always by accident.
He went on through the river casually, and up the other bank seeming not to notice the other bears who fled in terror before him. One young, but fully-grown adult male bear decided he’d find out what was happening. He was the most dominant male in the area and huge as grizzly bears go. Bertram was bigger.
“Take a walk kid, you can have the rest of them: alls I want is her.”
“But they’re all mine. I fought by rights for all of them.”
Bertram snarled at this: “I’ll not tell you again.”
The other bear thought it over a short second, then made a dignified retreat. Bertram once ate one of the males that challenged him.
“Get the hell out of here you old coot,” was the greeting Bertha the bear gave him. “And stay the hell away from my cubs,” she was snarling up a storm.
“I could care less about those cubs of yours. I came all the way over here for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah: beat it.” She said with a growl that verged on a roar.
Bertram was digging the heck out of this chick: “Pretty feisty, I like that.”
“Look, I’m warning you...”
About three hours later she was smiling that smile and was carrying Bertram’s genes inside her.
She had two cubs. The last Bertram ever sired. One boy and one girl, the boy grew up to be just a little bigger than Bertram, and the girl just a little smaller than her dad which made her one of the largest females ever. Many confused her for a him, except other bears that is; they always know. It’s in the walk. Bertram ran into her one day in a pine forest munching on some pinecones.
“Hey, pop,” she said. “How ya been?”
“Getting old. How bout you?”
“Pregnant.”
He nodded. “Well, see you around.”
“Have a pine cone,” she said rolling one at him. They wound up talking for hours. Somehow she knew that she was his last daughter, and the winter coming was his last winter.
She smiled, and savored the moment.
He didn’t throw his weight around--much.
He was getting older and grouchier with every year. He had lots and lots of offspring spread out through North America. Chances are the bear in your zoo is related to this old cuss.
Bertram was waking up from a long nap, not hibernation just a lazy Sunday snooze when he got the idea in his head to go pick berries down by a certain stream. He wasn’t a berry picker really, it was more of a roving hurricane that blew past, taking all types of fruit, nuts, berries, even roots and what have you with it.
Bertram chewed carefully on a paw full of wild raspberries that also contained an unlucky grasshopper or two, he had been so busy eating he hadn’t noticed he was now down near the rapids, where quite a few other grizzly bears were having a hay day eating salmon.
Bertram stood up on his hind legs to get a better picture of the situation.
On the opposite bank, there was a grizzly bear that was huge and beautiful and female and though Bertram didn’t get the urge that much anymore, (he was after all sixty-nine) this bear turned his head. He sauntered down to the water and took a bath all the while noting where she was. She had two cubs that were just old enough to be on their own soon.
“Rats,” Bertram thought to himself. “They’re always more receptive when they don’t have kids.” He forgot that it was because males sometimes killed cubs and not always by accident.
He went on through the river casually, and up the other bank seeming not to notice the other bears who fled in terror before him. One young, but fully-grown adult male bear decided he’d find out what was happening. He was the most dominant male in the area and huge as grizzly bears go. Bertram was bigger.
“Take a walk kid, you can have the rest of them: alls I want is her.”
“But they’re all mine. I fought by rights for all of them.”
Bertram snarled at this: “I’ll not tell you again.”
The other bear thought it over a short second, then made a dignified retreat. Bertram once ate one of the males that challenged him.
“Get the hell out of here you old coot,” was the greeting Bertha the bear gave him. “And stay the hell away from my cubs,” she was snarling up a storm.
“I could care less about those cubs of yours. I came all the way over here for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah: beat it.” She said with a growl that verged on a roar.
Bertram was digging the heck out of this chick: “Pretty feisty, I like that.”
“Look, I’m warning you...”
About three hours later she was smiling that smile and was carrying Bertram’s genes inside her.
She had two cubs. The last Bertram ever sired. One boy and one girl, the boy grew up to be just a little bigger than Bertram, and the girl just a little smaller than her dad which made her one of the largest females ever. Many confused her for a him, except other bears that is; they always know. It’s in the walk. Bertram ran into her one day in a pine forest munching on some pinecones.
“Hey, pop,” she said. “How ya been?”
“Getting old. How bout you?”
“Pregnant.”
He nodded. “Well, see you around.”
“Have a pine cone,” she said rolling one at him. They wound up talking for hours. Somehow she knew that she was his last daughter, and the winter coming was his last winter.
She smiled, and savored the moment.
Gongga Shan
Gongga Shan (if it’s still called that) is a very tall mountain. You can’t miss it: 24,900 feet tall snow capped all year round. Very pretty to look at from any direction.
After the 12,000 foot mark it gets a little sparse when it comes to vegetation, but under certain rocks there are bugs. Bugs so teeny tiny they never visit the other bugs that live under other rocks--at least not any more. In fact it’s been so long since the bugs have visited each other their great-grand children are debating whether there are other bugs under other rocks. Some bugs are positive there aren’t and of course some bugs are positive that there are.
It’s really quite ridiculous if you think about it.
One day Willy, a very adventurous little (and I do mean little) bug set off to settle the debate. He never returned because he fell in love with Wanda and Vicki two bugs he met under the very next rock he came to. They both loved him back and because of their wacky culture had no problem sharing Willy (in)between them.
Willy, as you may guess, had not the slightest proclivity for travel after this. He died an old and happy bug with over 43,009 grand children none of whom ever argued about whether or not there was life under other rocks.
If ever you get the chance, climb up Gongga Shan and say hello to the little tiny bugs that live under the rocks up above 12,000 feet. Chances are they’ll be related to Willy because unlike Willy in his later years, most of his grand children did get out from under their particular rocks...
After the 12,000 foot mark it gets a little sparse when it comes to vegetation, but under certain rocks there are bugs. Bugs so teeny tiny they never visit the other bugs that live under other rocks--at least not any more. In fact it’s been so long since the bugs have visited each other their great-grand children are debating whether there are other bugs under other rocks. Some bugs are positive there aren’t and of course some bugs are positive that there are.
It’s really quite ridiculous if you think about it.
One day Willy, a very adventurous little (and I do mean little) bug set off to settle the debate. He never returned because he fell in love with Wanda and Vicki two bugs he met under the very next rock he came to. They both loved him back and because of their wacky culture had no problem sharing Willy (in)between them.
Willy, as you may guess, had not the slightest proclivity for travel after this. He died an old and happy bug with over 43,009 grand children none of whom ever argued about whether or not there was life under other rocks.
If ever you get the chance, climb up Gongga Shan and say hello to the little tiny bugs that live under the rocks up above 12,000 feet. Chances are they’ll be related to Willy because unlike Willy in his later years, most of his grand children did get out from under their particular rocks...
DG
Don Gente, (that’s Don Hentaye to you native English speakers) was a yellow-breasted finch. He lived in Orlando at a mystical place named after two Jewish guys in expensive suits. MGM.
A place quite literally built for the fun of it. Well, all right they wanted to make money too, but this is a happy story--reality has nothing to do with it.
Don Gente hung out under three shady trees on a grassy knoll right near a leaky sprinkler head. Tourists threw him all the popcorn and pieces of soft pretzels he could eat. Water though it tasted bad was in abundance. It was a happy bird life, replete with good-looking chicks.
Fridays, he hung out in front of the beer stand and drank spilt beer `till he couldn’t fly strait anymore. Sometimes he had to walk home. He didn’t care though; there were no stray cats allowed, not even on the music system that came out of little flat boxes too close to the ground.
His significant other, Lolita, joined him every other Friday. (She had computer classes twice a month at OCC). If you stay late in the park you might catch them on a Friday, walking home, singing bird songs, being happy.
A place quite literally built for the fun of it. Well, all right they wanted to make money too, but this is a happy story--reality has nothing to do with it.
Don Gente hung out under three shady trees on a grassy knoll right near a leaky sprinkler head. Tourists threw him all the popcorn and pieces of soft pretzels he could eat. Water though it tasted bad was in abundance. It was a happy bird life, replete with good-looking chicks.
Fridays, he hung out in front of the beer stand and drank spilt beer `till he couldn’t fly strait anymore. Sometimes he had to walk home. He didn’t care though; there were no stray cats allowed, not even on the music system that came out of little flat boxes too close to the ground.
His significant other, Lolita, joined him every other Friday. (She had computer classes twice a month at OCC). If you stay late in the park you might catch them on a Friday, walking home, singing bird songs, being happy.
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