It's A Small World
by Calendar Hacksaw
I can't begin to tell you how much it grieved ol' Calendar to see that "For
Sale" sign in the window of the Twin Oaks General Store. But I was
relieved to learn that Al St. John wasn't deserting the community; just
looking for a new landlord. I've come to know that Al is as decent and
hard-working as they come, and a fine businessman to boot. We can only
hope that whoever comes along to apply for the job will carry on Al's
unselfish tradition of "friendship first, commerce second." But
we came close to total disaster, and I'm here to tell you about it.
Last weekend, after drinking more pilsners than Piute has peaks, I was
taking an eight-hour nap in the front seat of my truck, which had somehow
parked itself in the rear lot of a large entertainment complex in Burbank.
well, when I woke up I was kinda hungry, so I commenced to doin' a little
"dumpster diving" in search of a good breakfast. And while
swimmin' through the cardboard and styrofoam, what should I find but a
big, thick report entitled "The Twin Oaks Project - A Prospectus."
I can't tell you the name of the company that prepared it, lest I get
myself sued, but let it suffice to say that the cover of the dang thing
had a big ol' caricature of a mouse on it; a very famous mouse. So ol'
Calendar sat down and commenced to readin'.
Well, this company's plans included not only the General Store, but a
lot of the surrounding area as well. And big plans they were. It started
at Highway 58, where visitors would park in that large turn-out on the
northeast corner, which would be enlarged to accommodate, say, 80,000
vehicles. Toilets would be installed; an improvement over what I've
observed its present use to be.
From there, guests would climb aboard track-mounted steeds for the trip
through Caliente Canyon. Sort of like a carousel, but these weren't wooden
horses; they were actual dead mules, fresh from the taxidermist, in a
variety of life-like poses. The mule train would stop for only three
reasons: a rattlesnake sighting, in which case the train would remain
stopped until some kid got bit; a collision with a steer, until the steer
regained sufficient composure to exact revenge; or a landslide, until
Supervisor Perez arrived to clear the track (Perez wondered when ol'
Calendar would mention him in a column). Open containers would be allowed.
De-muling at the store ("dismounting" was ruled out because of
sexual innuendo), the new arrivals would be greeted by a smiling, silver
haired devil wearing cute, company-issue blue bib overalls and a straw of
alfalfa hanging out of his mouth. This would, of course, be Al.
And Al wouldn't be the only Twin Oaks resident wearing an assigned
costume; all other "cast members" (aka: residents), would be
required to do the same. The dress code would mandate clothing to cover
all body art and piercings, which would be particularly hard on a few of
the region's better women, children, and livestock.
This brings me to the attractions, some of which I found to be quite
interesting. Let's begin with "Wayne Moody Speaks." This
would be a robotics display, in which a life-like replica of the famous
columnist rises from a rocking chair and launches into a spiel about how
he was raised by goats and his grandmother in an Oklahoma dugout. The
audience is invited to ask questions, then laugh and fall asleep through
his rambling replies, which always exceed his allotted word count. At the
end of the show, the "real" Wayne Moody would walk on stage, and
the viewers would break into tears and applause, believing they are
witnessing some kind of miracle, or hoax, or salmonella poisoning. A Kodak
moment.
Next stop for our intrepid travelers would be "Fritz' hydraulic
Rack Ride." This contraption - designed to lift vehicles into the
air to facilitate repairs - would be modified to carry up to sixteen
passengers at a time, where they would be hoisted to an altitude of eight
feet and look down upon the herd of "101 Damnridgebacks,"
soon to be made into a major motion picture.
"The Shooting Gallery" is next. Young and old alike
will take delight in arming themselves against a never-ending horizontal
parade of bubonic plague-infested ground squirrels. Winners of each round
would be awarded a realistic citation from a character loosely
impersonating a game warden.
Which brings us to "Smace Mountain," in which an
aerial tramway would transport the brave and foolish to the site of the
old Gwynne Mine, where they would climb aboard a 1956 Pontiac with flat
tires and no brakes for a rollicking ride down Franchesci Grade. The ride
would end at Weaver Creek, where one and all would be unceremoniously
dumped into the midst of a herd of scratch-'n-sniff range cattle.
There were more attractions, too many to detail, including "Indiana
Jack McWilliams," "The Mountain Lion Parade,"
and "Bandits of the Caliente."
But I found a half-eaten blueberry muffin about then, and decided to take
some of the slack outa my belly. Besides, the report concluded that the
Twin Oaks Project would be doomed to failure for three reasons:
- The high cost of spittoons and gandy dancers.
- Too difficult for the outsider to tell the difference between
proposed "attractions" and normal Twin Oaks affairs.
- Fears that unidentified Fence Post columnist might decide to
"come out of the closet."
So thanks to bad habits, slippery ways, and country livin' we were
spared, at least for the time being. Now if we can just find us a
millionaire to buy the store. And I think the blue bib overalls for Al is
a dang good idea, don't you?
Calendar Hacksaw's e-mail addresses are <calendar@usa.net>
and <twistedsisters@hotmail.com>
and he'd love to hear from you.
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