Conclave: The Indictment of Waldorf and Statler

Chairman:  The Council will come to order.  We are here convened this 22nd day of February, in the year of our lord 2015 to indict the accused here before us--

Joe:  Objection!

Chair:  You may not object, sir.  This is not a trial.

Joe:  Then what's this business about indicting us?  Don't you mean something more like, "to consider the indictment of?"  Plus - 2015, I can assure you, is NOT a lord's year.

Chair:  Oh, Mister Scott.  So cute.  Rest assured that by the end of these proceedings, even you would have no choice but to indict you.  And don't mess with "in the year of our lord."  The lord is bigger than the both of us.  Now, sit down.

Joe:  Whoa - what happened to the separation of church and state?

Chair (shaking head, laughing):  Oh, Mister Scott, Mister Scott, Mister Scott.  They were right; you are funny.  

Joe:  Whatever.  I have to admit that it will be nice to finally get to hear the crime of which we are accused.

Chair:  Indicted.

Joe:  Not yet!

Chair:  It's a foregone conclusion.

Joe:  Seriously?

Chair:  Yes.

Joe:  Okay.  To reiterate, and with all due respect to the Council - which is no respect at all - whatever.

Clerk:  You are hearby formally charged with doing it wrong.

Joe:  You spelled hereby wrong.

Clerk:  What?

Joe:  It's spelled h-e-r-e-b-y, not--

Clerk:  Sir, I am speaking.  There is no spelling - right or wrong.

Joe:  It sounded misspelled, to me.

Clerk:  Shut up.

Chair:  Okay, okay.  Order, please.  Let's get this over with.  I have a 1:30 tee time.

Joe:  And I have to meet [Maris] at Dogfish Head while it's still happy hour.

Chair:  Count One.  It has been reported that you and [Maris] - if that is her real name...

Joe:  It's not.

Chair:  Anyway... Count One - you finish each other's sentences.

Joe:  Millions of people do that.

Chair:  You finish each other's weird sentences.  When you first started dating, it was cute.  Almost two decades later, it's annoying.  No one else gets it.

Joe:  Weird?  Weird how?

Vice-Chair:  On December 19th, 2014, speaking about the disastrous roll-out of your employer's new lockbox vendor, you said, "It's not like I was expecting  this process to be all..." and [Maris] immediately said, "rainbow sparkle purple bunny pancakes."

Joe:  Yes.  I remember that.  Friday night.  Shots, chips, salsa, and venting.

Chair:  And you knew what she meant?

Joe:  Of course.  She was finishing my sentence.

Chair:  You were going to say "rainbow sparkle purple bunny pancakes?"

Joe:  How else would I finish that sentence?  I'd say Count One is kind of bogus, sir.

Chair:  Moving on.  Count Two:  Hand-holding, especially in public venues.

Joe:  Seriously?  Hand-holding?  We don't do that.

Vice Chair places a twenty-by-thirty inch mounted print on an exhibit easel:

Busted.  Photo by Mary Wiecek, Joe's favorite sister.

Joe:  You can't prove that's us. 

Chair:  And you do it all the time.  You're both way too old for such displays.  Count Three:  We have obtained the following testimony from a Mr. Godfrey O. Ozzenbarq III - if that is is real name:

"Truth Be Told... you and Curvy Scott do dig each other, do still duck in and talk low and witty and flirty and mocking (who wouldn't mock my hat, wrist-sandals or homemade Raisinets?), and are not in the least sick of each other's clammy lighthouse stink... even after your coastal historical structure search and kinky spike-booted dominatrix submission sessions (by J.Mac) in seedy, "independently operated" Texas and Florida bed bug farms.  We, the other 2 peeps who like each other, We Salute You.  (Cue cannon fire etc.)"

Joe:  It is not real name, and that's not testimony - that's an email!  You hacked my email!  Can you produce a warrant for that invasion of my privacy?

Chair:

Joe:  I didn't think so.  Maybe you're the one who deserves an indictment.

Vice-Chair:  YOU'RE an indictment!

Chair:  Order!  Order!  One more.  Count Four:  It has been said that you and [Maris] do not work at your marriage.  Marriage is hard work.  There's fighting.  You complain about each other. You argue.  You compromise.  You two, it seems, do none of that.  It's lazy.  It's offensive to the rest of us, out here putting in the work to keep it together, and it's just plain wrong. 

Joe:  I refuse to accept that that is a crime, and I will not apologize for it.  We can't help it.  Life's too short, and we really just don't have the time or patience for all of that.  I am on her side, and she's on mine.

Chair:  Council?  All in favor of indictment?

Council (in unanimous unison):  Aye.

Joe:  Aw, nuts.



It's been a while.  This comes in belated response to the writing prompt Conclave and/or Council, from my writer friends at STUDIO 30 PLUS.
 

Ol' Barb Stab-You-Quick's Search for Love

Dewy White Flower, by [Maris] - Louisa, KY 1997

"What about Knee-Brace Kenny," Laura Delite suggested.  "He seems positively smitten with you, Barb."

Ol' Barb Stab-You-Quick scoffed.  "I don't even want to dignify that with a response.  You're lucky I don't--"

"Stab me?" Laura said.  "I mean, stab me again?"

"You know me so well.  Look - Kenny's very sweet, but he's just a boy.  I need a man.  A real man.  Plus, knee braces give me the willies something awful."

"Well, how about Magnetized James?  He's a man's man.  All the lady hoboes think he's a dream."

"Oh Laura, be serious," Barb groaned.  

"I am being serious," she insisted.  "You two made a swell couple.  Everyone said so."

"Oh, I know," Barb admitted, "but we had no future together.  The man is magnetized, you know.  Anything I had that was metal - my fork, my cans, my knives - they all stuck to him.  Once, I was about to stab this yard cop, and James got too close to me and ZAP!  There went my trusty stabbin' knife.  Cut him pretty bad.  Again."  She shook her head.  "No.  No future."

"Yes, I remember that story.  I felt bad.  If he weren't magnetic, it might have worked out."

"And don't even say Ironbelly Norton," Barb cautioned.

Laura Delite laughed.  "Oh, I wasn't going to bring him up, honey.  'Yes, Norton - you can eat gravel and newspapers and dead frogs, and not even throw up or anything.  We're all very impressed.  Isn't there anything else you can talk about?'"

"He was such a braggart," Barb nodded, looking down at the Louisville and Nashville trackbed as she walked.

"Say, how about Huge Crybaby McWeepy?" Laura proposed.  "He took a shine to you the minute he saw you."

Ol' Barb laughed loudly.

"What?  So he cried.  Most fellas cry when they get stabbed by a gorgeous blue-eyed dame from the road - or by anyone, for that matter."

"It's not just that he cried," Barb countered.  "But he's an ugly crier."

"An ugly crier?  Oh come now - who's not just a little bit ugly when they cry?"

"He looks like a circus clown when he cries.  So, no ma'am.  I think I'll pass on Mr. McWeepy."

"You're impossible," Laura said.  "You can't be so choosy, out here.  How about Stool-Sample Frank?  He's nice.  Tall, handsome, great smile, seems strong and kind."

"He's always trying to sell me a stool.  I'm a hobo.  What am I going to do with a stool, for goodness' sake?  And if I could afford a stool, would I be out here walking from town to town looking for work picking crops and cleaning stables?  No.  You're welcome to him."

Laura thought for a moment.  "No, you're right.  I forgot how hard he tried to sell those stools.  You'd be better off marrying No-Banjo Burnes."

"Ha!  The only man I ever failed to stab, and dare I say, he scared me, just a little.  I had nightmares of being beaten in my sleep with that rusty old banjo."

"If only you hadn't--"

"Don't."  Ol' Barb Stab-You-Quick stopped in her tracks.  More accurately, she stopped in the L&N's tracks.  Either way, she stopped.  "Don't say his name."

His name was Shane Stoopback, and Barb had loved him, once.  He didn't love her back, and it made her as irrational as a schoolgirl with her first crush.  He ran from her, he hid from her, he begged her to leave him alone.  One night, she saw him sitting by his fire, singing a soft, pretty song to some woman she didn't know.  In a blind, jealous rage, she stabbed him to death.  The other woman ran off and hadn't been seen since.

"Have you ever considered trying not stabbing people?  It might help..."

"Never mind, Laura.  Some gals just ain't meant to find love.  I'm coming around to it.  I'm learning that it's not in the cards, for me.  I'll never find love, and that's just how it's going to be.  Thank God I have you, though."  She took her best friend's hand, and they continued west toward Memphis, into a hazy orange setting sun.

You silly woman, Laura thought.  Love has already found you.  You just don't see it, yet.  But so help me, you will.

Once again, I wrote in response to a wonderful prompt, "He's an ugly crier," excerpted from fellow STUDIO 30-PLUS blogger LM Leffew's elegant post THE KING IS DEAD.  Check it out.  She's really good!



 

Keeping Your Woman Happy In 5 Easy Steps

For No Reason

I'm often asked by no one just how it is that [Maris] and I have such a ridiculously, effortlessly, splendidly wonderful marriage.  Well, I would be asked that, if people could move past their shock and, in some cases, disappointment at the fact that we've made it beyond the year they all gave us - almost thirteen times over, at this point.  Let me tell you, it hasn't been easy.  Relationships are hard work.  Hahaha, what?  Oh, if I had a nickel for every time I've heard that.  Rubbish!  Relationships can be hard work.  Ours is not.  Why is this so?  I've thought about this for a very long time - over an hour, now - and I've come up with the answer to that question.   

It boils down to five simple steps that any man can take to ensure his mate's happiness - and therefore a smooth and loving relationship.

1.  Be with the Right Person.  Notice I said "be with" and not "find."  Being with is easy.  Finding - I have no idea how to go about finding.  I know this sounds simplistic and easy for me to say and well, stupid, but it really is just about the only thing that makes it all go.  I've been in a few relationships, some of which were really good - one of which was a short marriage to a wonderful woman - and I can tell you that any one of them could have been made to work, but only [Maris] was - and is - the Right Person for me, making this the right relationship.

Now, before you even get started - yes, I know this is a ludicrously oversimplified view of relationships.  I'm only keeping it this way to make a point.  I hear so much bitching about lazy, immature husbands/boyfriends, and so much grumbling about nagging wives/girlfriends.  Power struggles,  conflicting interests, recurring arguments and on and on and on...  Here's the thing.  Some people need that.  Others can't stand it, and would rather die than fight.  When I say be with the Right Person, I'm not saying be with someone who never disagrees with you, any more than I'd say be with someone who is your total opposite.  I'm saying be on the same page.  If you both need to be with a complementary opposite, do that.  If you need to agree on as much as humanly possible, that's cool, too.  As long as you're both on the same page.  

2.  See #1.

3.  Grow up.  You can't know if your mate is right for you if you don't know yourself, and you can't know yourself - at least, not very well - until you grow up.  Sorry.  It is the way of things.

4.  Flowers.  Anniversary flowers, event flowers, "just because" flowers, and flower flowers.  Even flowers from the grocery store florist count, if you get them often enough.  Unless she hates flowers, in which case we can broaden this rule to "stuff she likes."  Find out what she likes, and DO THAT.  If she likes rummaging through the city dump, guess what.  If she enjoys GRILLED food every night, then get grilling, buddy.  If she likes lasers and electric guitars, do this:

(devil horns)

This is not rocket science.  Well, not if you've followed step #1.  I know that even in 2013, there are a lot of men who will scoff at that, and call me unpleasant words like "whipped."  This amuses me, because really, why wouldn't you want a happy woman?  They tend to be just SO much more fun than the unhappy ones.  Is it me?  It must be me.

5.  Understand and accept that happiness is never guaranteed.  No matter how perfect the match, no matter how meant it is to be, no one can be happy all the time.  If your mate is happy all the time, there is something wrong with him or her, and professional help should be sought immediately.  Just try to keep the naturally-occurring bits of unhappiness to a reasonable minimum, fight against the external forces of meh as a team, and follow the steps above to ensure that said unhappy bits are not your fault.  Actually, they can be your fault every once in a great while - it happens.  Also, remember that happiness is a journey, not a destination.  This is true when one is alone, and so too is it the case with couples.  It sounds simple, I know - like a cheesy motivational poster at work - but it is absolutely true.  You never arrive at happy.  You either are or you aren't. 

There.  If you study these simple steps, practice hard, and send 10 new visitors to my blog, you too can have a happy woman.   Wow - relationship advice is easy!

Finally, if all else fails, there's a secret bonus step...

6.  Marry [Maris].  Ha!  Too late!  Mine, mine, mine!  Seriously, though - being with the Right One really does make all of the above just ridiculously easy.

This post started around the idea of how my wife's love of GRILLED food plays right to one of my strengths.  It was prompted by my amazing fellow bloggers at  STUDIO THIRTY PLUS.

 

They Wrote Their Own Vows

I have been asked many times about hobo relationships.  Were there female hoboes?  Did they date fellow hoboes?  Did they ever marry?  What were their weddings like?  Where did they register?  What did they do for honeymoons?  Now that I think about it, I've never been asked any of those questions.  But I have wondered why no one's been asking.  There are plenty of stories of hobo love.  Here's a peek at just one.

The October 1932 wedding of Maria the Pumpkin-Patch Crooner and Pierre Tin-Hat was lightly attended, because it was raining.  Rufus Caboose was their officiant, because he "liked God stuff," and could talk fast enough to get through the ceremony before the hobo congregants had time to get bored and wander off.  Given the average hobo's miniscule attention span, this was no small feat.  He got to the vows, which the bride and groom had written themselves, within ninety seconds.

"I, Pierre Tin-Hat, take thee, Maria the Pumpkin-Patch Crooner as my wedded drifter wife.  I promise to give you half of my beans and all of my heart.  I will protect you from vermin and police dogs, and let you wear my coat.  I will not harshly criticize your singing, or your constant, obsessive searching for pumpkin patches.  I will not yell at you, and I promise to share you only with my very best friends.  This is my more or less sober vow."

[Long pause, during which Maria the Pumpkin-Patch Crooner stared at her groom, tears welling in her eyes, as Pierre Tin-Hat grinned sheepishly at her.]

"I, Maria the Pumpkin-Patch Crooner, take thee, Pierre Tin-Heart, to be my partner, my best friend, my love.  I promise to help you with your crippling inability to read hobo signs.  I will chop firewood when you are weak, which everyone knows is always.  I will listen to you better than you listen to me.  I will stand watch while you relieve yourself, so no one sees you and makes fun.  I will walk beside you and remind you to look both ways before crossing.  I promise not to bring you to any of the hundreds of pumpkin patches I have, um, visited before with other men.  I'm sure eventually we can find at least one to call our own.  I will mend your trousers when there is thread.  I will not light your whiskey on fire unless I'm terribly, terribly cold.  I will bear you no children, unless we can find nothing else to eat.  Ha ha ha.  But seriously, I'm barren.  What?  I thought you knew that.  Sorry.  I also promise to read to you from what's left of my Bible.  I choose you, Pierre, and I will walk the length of the Union Pacific with you as together we weather life's storms.  Also, yes, I will finally sleep with you.  But you just mind your manners, mister!  Oh, and I love you.  Amen."