Eye Ahem Da Guvner; Chapter Three

Chapter Three:

 

     Earle Edgar felt so stupid in drag. Eye donut feel pritty att awal! he thought. He made his way slowly through the town. The people that he passed did a double-take, and he told them,

     “Badd hare dayy!”

     He couldn’t wait to get through the town and back out to a rural area. Finally, he had made in though the town and was stomping his way down the road. Abandoned was any thought of trying to stay hidden. He just wanted to get out of the state as soon as possible; and besides, if anyone spotted him, all they would see was an unattractive woman, and he figured that his days-long growth of beard would scare them off. Boy, did he ever need a shave. If he didn’t get one pretty soon, he’d look like “The Amazing Goat-Woman of the Hills.”

 

     He was trudging along, looking neither left nor right, but only straight ahead. He was tired to the core, and famished, although he was so used to those feelings that he had grown numb to them. Suddenly, he heard a car round the bend behind him, but didn’t pay too much attention to it, until it pulled up beside him and rolled a few more feet, then stop. One of the teenage males in the car yelled,

     “Hey baby, where ya going?”

     Great, a bunch of moronic teens out looking for trouble; “Owe, Eyma heden fer da nex towen upp da rode.”

     “Come on, baby, let’s party all day. Whoo!”

     Then Earle Edgar heard the sound of breaking glass as one of the six guys in the car threw his empty beer bottle at a rock beside the road.

     “Whoo, party all day. Whoo!”

     One of the drunk teens then yelled, “Whoo; come on baby, let’s party. Whoo! Get in and we’ll guaranty you a good time. Whoo!”

     “Eyes juss fian walken.”

     “Oh, come on, get in.”

     “Noo tank yew, gentalmen.”

     “Alright then, Miss Lady with a Stick up her A**, be that way; anyway, you’re too damn ugly for us to waste our time on. Whoo!” and then came several beer bottles arcing out of the rolled-down windows.

     “Whoo!” yelled one of them, as the sound faded away because the car was burning rubber rapidly away from him.

     Bunetch ov drunkin moor ons!  Togethare, da kuldnt fil an thimbell wid dare brane mator!

 

     As he stumbled along the road, Earle Edgar grew more and more despondant. He had all-but decided that maybe the best thing he could do was turn himself in. He had been caught and sentenced to prison before, and that had sucked, but since he had broken out and been on the run, it had been nothing but a struggle. He just couldn’t take it one more second. He would go inside the next police station he came to and turn himself in, this time for good. He came to another small town, and sought out the police station, with resolve in his heart. He spotted the Rare Possum Police Department and went straight up to the door. It was time to end this. He was tired of the never-ending hunger, he was tired of always being cold; and most of all, and he was tired of being sick of being sick and tired. He saw a man in a police uniform sitting behind his big mahogany desk, and went up and blurted,

     “Eyed lik ta turin misef in.”

     The big policeman stared up at him and replied, “Okay, I give up; what are you going to turn yourself into lady? Eh, ha, ha!”

     “Kno, Eyema wantid felan.”

     “And I’m the Tooth Fairy lady, eh, ha, ha!”

     “Owe, juss fergit itt!” he yelled, and went to the door and stomped outside.

 

     Now what?  Night was falling once again, and his stomach was painfully empty and he was dispirited. He’d been hit on and ridiculed; he looked like one none-too-attractive female. He had tried to turn himself in, and hadn’t been believed.

     Eye nead ta fine misef sumpin elas ta ware.  Eye donut tink Eyel bee notised ifn Eyem dresed lyke an copp.

     He’d passed an alley on his way out of the Rare Possum Police Station, and it should lead to the rear door. He should be able to sneak into the station and steal a policeman’s uniform. He retuned to the alley-way, finding the rear entrance just as he’d hoped. Because this was only a small town, the cop at the front desk should be alone. He found the back door unlocked, so he entered and found himself in the vacant locker room. Perfect; he tip-toed to the nearest locker, and reached down to try the handle. It was locked. He swore softly, and looked around for something with which he could force the lock. At first, he saw nothing to help him, but then his eyes fixed on a crowbar standing in the corner. He went over and grabbed it, and forced it in the locker door next to the lock. He knew he had to be super-quiet so as not to alert the cop in the front, so he applied gentle pressure to the bar. Nothing happened. Then he applied medium pressure. Still nothing happened. He was becoming angry now, so he reefed on the crowbar as hard as he could. He stained and strained, but all he heard was a creaking sound. 'Come on, you sum ov an bi---' he started to think, then the door gave way, taking him by surprise, so that he lost his balance and fell to the floor. The suddenly-open door slammed open and then shut, and then the hinges broke, sending it crashing to the floor. The cop from the front came slamming through the door, and immediately slipped on a slippery spot and went down a**-over-teakettle. As Earle Edgar had stood back up, that few seconds was all the time he needed; he saw a full uniform hanging in the locker, grabbed it and the shoes sitting under it, and ran for the door. He heard the policeman yell,

     “Stop right there, you’re under arrest!” immediately followed by gunshots which struck all around him, but miraculously, none struck him, and he disappeared into the fog-enshrouded night.

 

     Earle Edgar had changed into the stolen police uniform and now turned his attention back to finding to finding something to eat. Once again, luck had been with him; the uniform fit him reasonably well. He hadn’t eaten for a long time, and his hunger was getting acute. When he walked into the next little town up the road, he noticed an all-night grocery store, and thought, 'heya, Eyel steel sum chowe'. He entered the store, returned the cashier’s greeting, and went to the potato chip and cookie section. He glanced around nervously, and began stuffing small bags of chips down his pants. When he thought he’d taken enough, he made his way stiff-legged towards the front exit. As he was shuffling past the cashier, she said,

     “Evening officer, is there something I can help you find?”

     He replied, rather nervously, “Owe, kno tank yew, mame, Eye seam ta hav firgot mi muny.”

     The cashier replied, “Oh, no problem, just give me your name and I’ll put it on the Rare Possum account. You must be new; I don’t remember seeing you before?”

     “Awe, mi nams Dayve Mooguladan.”

     “Officer what?”

     “Awe, Offisar Moonidal.”

     “Wait, I’m a little confused. Can I have your badge number?”

     He panicked at the request, and started to run towards the door, only when his knees bent, the chips in his pants exploded, and he left a trail of broken potato chips behind him as he ran.

 

     He ran into the darkness, until he just had to stop, totally winded and wheezing. He glanced back up the road, fully expecting to see the blue flashing lights of a police car, but he saw none. He stopped under a streetlight, and jammed his hand down his pants, hoping to find some potato chips that had somehow lodged there, but didn’t. Before he could remove his hand, a bright yellow bus, with the words “Happy Mountain Christian Academy” rolled past him. He saw youngsters with their faces plastered to the rear window, gawking at him.

     “Wat ar yew basterds luken att, huha?” he yelled after the disappearing bus, and finished pulling his hand from his pants.

 

     He just had to find some food, and right now. Wait a minute; where there was a grocery store, there would be a dumpster out back. He was briefly embarrassed by the thought of scrounging through a dumpster for food, but this was an emergency.

 

     The owner of the grocery store was just leaving, after being called at home by Wanda, his graveyard cashier. She had told him that a man wearing a Rare Possum Police Department patrolman’s uniform had just been scared off by her after attempting to shoplift. He had gotten right out of a warm bed to come down to the store and check things out. He had found nothing else amiss, apart from Wanda being quite understandably upset, so he was leaving for home. He was just about to get in his car, when he heard some noises from around the back of the store. He quickly grabbed his flashlight, and leaving it switched off, went quietly to investigate. He crept around the corner, saw the dim outline of the dumpster, and heard the soft noises of somebody rustling around inside. He switched on the flashlight, aimed it at the opening, and yelled,

     “Okay, I hear you in there, come out with your hands up!”

     He saw a policeman stand up with his hands over his head and say, “Eye kan susplain wat Eyema duin insyed yer dumstor. Aya, Eyea folowd an suspict heer, an sawe himm tose sumpin in heer, sew Eyema luken fer watevar hee tosed an wey.”

 

     Earle Edgar opened the lid of the dumpster he knew he would find behind the grocery store, and climbed in. At first, all he found was useless garbage, but as he dug deeper, he found some food scraps. Half a chicken, that once he scraped the ants off, wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t yet rotten, and he found the taste palatable. He was reaching for a ½-eaten bag of cookies, when he heard someone’s voice,

     “Okay, I hear you in there, come out with your hands up!”

     Sheit, he thought; he slowly stood up and replied, “Eye kan susplain wat Eyema duin insyed yer dumstor.” Thynk! “Aya, Eyea folowd an suspict heer, an sawe himm tose sumpin inn heer, sew Eyma luken fer watevar hee tossed an wey.”

     “A likely story, do you honestly believe I would buy it?”

     “Yaya, bekuz itsa da trooth.”

     “Alright pal, enough b.s; come on out of there, and I’m calling the real police.”

     Earle Edgar hung his head resignedly and slithered his way onto the ground, where he stood with slumped shoulders. “Awel rite mistar, ya gott mi, Eyel giv ya kno moor trubal.” he said, looking for all the world like a beaten man.

     The store owner then said, “You made the right call. There’s no sense trying to put up a figh---hey, what the fu---”

     That was as far as he got, because Red Nekk smashed a fist into his face, knocking him out.

 

     The store owner shook his head, and found himself staring up into the concerned face of Wanda Stutts, his cashier. “What are you doing here, Wanda?”

     “I became terribly concerned when I saw your car was still here, so I locked the front door and came out here to look around to make sure everything was okay, and I found you unconscious.”

     “Wow, I was out that long? I would have sworn it was only a few seconds, tops.”

     He thought he heard breaking glass, and looked at Wanda’s face, but she seemed to not have heard, so he must have really got his bell rung. He was hearing imaginary noises. After a few seconds, he once again thought he heard crashes coming from inside the store. He looked at Wanda, but she hadn’t heard, apparently, so he relaxed. Weird!

 

     Wanda Stutts was really being bugged by the double ear infections she was being treated for. She couldn’t hear much of anything. Oh well, the doctor had said that the antibiotic she was taking should start to work soon.

     “Nope,” she replied to his statement of thinking he’d only been unconscious for a few seconds, “are you sure you’re feeling alright? Maybe I ought to call an ambulance?”

     “Now there’s no need for that, I’m fine; help me up, and we’ll go back inside and report this.”

 

     Ronny Drako and his friends were out looking for trouble. He’d just been released from prison, and was on the prowl. He’d lived like a caged animal for so long; he just wanted to celebrate his freedom by stealing something. Far from regretting his choice of stealing for a living, being sent to prison had only made him miss it, and now on top of his thievery, rage was added.

 

     As the store owner and Wanda, the store cashier, rounded the corner on their way back inside, they were alarmed to see 4 men running from the wide open door, and hurried inside to a scene of utter devastation. Products were strewn across the aisles, where the aisles could still be seen, for some of the shelving cases had been tipped over. With a sickened feeling in his stomach, the store owner crunched his way over the smashed products and tipped-over shelving to Wanda’s cash register. He gazed on the now-empty register, whirled to face Wanda, and stammered,

     “I thought you said you locked the door?”

     “I guess I was mistaken. Oops!”

 

     Earle Edgar slowly made his way along the highway which would take him out of Alabama. At this rate, it would take him a long time. After his narrow escape from the store dumpster, he’d managed to make it to the freeway. He’d only managed a few bites of the broiled chicken that had been thrown away, but it was enough to take the edge off of his hunger. After he’d trudged along wearily for a few miles, and after running into the woods when a police car went by, he thought to himself, 'enuff ov dis sheit; Eyema goen ta riske itt, Eyema goen ta starte hich-hiken'. After all, he was dressed like a cop, and the faster he got out of Alabama, the better. The sedan pulled to the shoulder and stopped. Earle Edgar ran up and climbed in the passenger side.

     “Tank yew, sur.”

     As he pulled the car back onto the road, the driver replied, “Sure; I’ve hitched myself, and I know I always appreciated someone giving me a ride.”

     “Dayy elow yew to mary yersef? Eye neww Alibama hadd sum weerd stuf hapen, butt dat donut sowned two gud!”

     “What? No, I just meant I’ve hitch-hiked before.”

     “Owa, shur.”

     “Where you headed, officer?”

     Officer? For a second, he didn’t understand, but then he remembered the police uniform. “Owa, itts Oficur aha, Frendley. Eyema heden fer da nex staat ovar da bordar, ta aten da bigg Natonel, awa, the big Natonal Copp Cunventon.”

     “I’m Gene Poole, and you’re in luck, I myself am driving to New Mexico to visit my parents, so I’d be glad to drop you off in Mississippi.”

     “Tanks.”

     “Sure, no problem.”

 

     “Okay, here we are, Mississippi.”

     Earle Edgar looked around, and thought, daris nutten heer fer me.  Knew Mexaco woodnt bee sew badd.

     “Awe, maybe, ifn yew wuudnt min, Eyel juss ryed wid yew owet ta Knew Mexaco.”

     “Sure, I don’t mind, but what about the Police Convention?”

     “Da wat? Owe, Da Copp Cunventon. Dats nott dat bigg a deel. I tink Eyed lik ta goe owet ta Knew Mexaco an cee da swampps. Eyeva awl weys wantid ta cee a aligater.”

     “I think you’re confusing New Mexico with Louisiana. Louisiana has the bayou. New Mexico’s much to dry for alligators.”

     “Luuk, Eyema wel awar ov ware aligaters ar nowen ta liv, but daris a unnowen paret ov Knew Mexaco dat mos peepal donut kno abowet.”

     “Sure dude, whatever you say!”

 

     An awkward silence had descended between them, and Earle Edgar was at a loss to explain why. It was growing dark and Poole finally broke his 500-mile silence.

     “I’m getting kind of hungry, how about you?”

     Earle Edgar blurted, “Sheit yaya!” before he could stop himself. “Eyea meen yeyas pleeze.” He was starving.

 

     They pulled into a truck stop with a 24-hour restaurant, and went inside. They seated themselves and their waiter asked them if they’d like coffee. They both replied yes, and their waiter went to get them a couple. Poole told Earle Edgar that he had to visit the bathroom. Earle Edgar had to go as well, but was much too hungry to leave the table.

     “Awlrite, Eyel juss sta heer.”

     Poole excused himself, saying, “Okay, I’ll be right back,” and went off in search of the can.

 

     The waiter brought their coffees, and their menus. As he walked away after saying he’d give them a couple of minutes to decide, Earle Edgar opened his menu and gawked at all the pictures of the foods he’d have to choose from.

 

     It had been 10 minutes since Poole had gone to find the restroom, and he still hadn’t returned. Earle Edgar was just about to go and check on him, when the waiter came back to the table. He remarked,

     “Oh, I see your friend’s not back yet. I’ll wait a little while longer.”

     Eye aint waytin! he thought. “Whi donut Eye giv yew mi ordur, an hee kan ordur a*s suun a*s hee gits bak.”

     “Sure, go ahead.”

     “Okayy, ta startt of wid, whi donut ya bringg mi a ordure off dem dare fryd cheez stiks. Den Eyea wood lik an cheesbergar an frys. Awlsew, Dew yu swerv brakefas awl da?”

     “Yes sir.”

     “Fyen, den bringg mi a dubl ordure ov da pankakes, wid da hashe browes.”

     “No problem. Will there be anything else, sir?”

     “Yaya, a ordure ov chikan stripes, anutter ordure of frenche frys, and fer dissert, Eyed lik a piec ov appel pye; an you miet inclewd a skoop ov i skreme wid dat.”

     “Okay, let me make sure I’ve got your order straight. One order of fried cheese sticks, one orde---”

     “Owe, whi donut ya mak itt too ordures ov fryd ceez stiks.”

     “Okay, two orders of fried cheese sticks, one order cheese burger with fries, a double order of pancakes with hash browns, one order of the chicken strips; what kind of sauce would you like with that?”

     “Yew meen Eye git mi choyc ov saces wid dat? Wek, Eyel tayk appel sawc wid itt.”

     “I’m sorry sir, I meant dipping sauce.”

     “Owe, Eyema nott inn da mowd ta git wett, sew Eyel scipp itt.”

     “Fine, one order of French fries, and one piece of apple pie with a scoop of ice cream with it. Do I have everything?”

     “Aya, yaya, Eye tink sew.”

     “Then I’ll be back as soon as your order’s ready.”

 

     Waiter Ted Jefferson walked away from this absolute glutton at table 5. He couldn’t believe the amount of food this clown had ordered! It could probably feed a small country.

 

     As Earle Edgar waited for his order; man was he hungry; he remembered Poole hadn’t returned from the restroom. He sure hoped everything was alright, because borrowing money from Poole was the only way he could pay. He was confident that he could talk him into floating him a loan. Then he would ditch Poole at his convenience, and would never have to pay the loan back. He congratulated himself on once again coming up with a great plan. Now where was the b*****d?

     Eyel juss mosie owen ovar dare an cee wats takin hym sew lowenge, he thought. He got up; stopping by the cash register to tell them he’d be right back; that he was going to check on someone who had gone to use the restroom. Then he went to the bathroom door, and yelled through it,

     “Haye inn dare; howp everitings commen owt al rite inn dare; eh, ha ha! Wait, Eye howp everytin wurked ittsef owet inn dare! Awa, juss fergit it; Eye donut amembor howw da jowk goeis".

     Still he heard nothing from inside. “Gean, Gean Poowel, ya inn dare?”

     Nothing but silence. “Gean, Eyema commin inn.”

     He pushed open the door, and two men slunk away, guiltily. Then the restroom was vacant. He looked, not believing, into every stall. The entire bathroom was empty; Poole had ditched him. Now how was he going to pay?

 

     He had managed to exit the truck stop without being seen, and now he had resumed hitch hiking. He was starving! He had been so close to a big meal. The very thought of it made his stomach rumble. He squinted to see through the dark, and the thick gray fog that had suddenly descended, making it almost impossible to see a car until it was almost on top of him. He knew that if he couldn’t see a car, that the odds of a car seeing him were minuscule. It was very dangerous to get close enough to see, but he was in a hurry. He was standing halfway out in the nearest lane, and walking like a ghost into the fog. Just then, he thought he could make out the headlights of an oncoming car. He squinted in vain to see anything. He just couldn’t! He was in the process of taking a couple of more steps out into the roadway so he could see a little better, when there sounded a horn-blast from an 18-wheeler, and he didn’t have time to think about it, he just reacted; diving to his left off the shoulder of the road, and tumbling wildly down a steep incline, splashing into the river which paralleled the highway; and landing in water that was over his head. He flailed around in the cold water, before finally dragging himself onto the bank, where he stood shivering; and pissed. He thought to himself, 'sum ov an bich!'

     He managed to drag his frozen body back up to the roadway. Then he started stumbling along, determined to keep going. Just then, from out of the fog, came headlights. With a resolve to flag down this car, he staggered with half-frozen limbs out into the roadway, saw the approaching lights dimly through the fog, and started waving his hands frantically, apparently having learned nothing from his tumble into the river. The approaching car failed to see him until the last second and swerved to miss him. With dismay, as the car went fishtailing by, he saw it was a police car. Quick as lightning, it went skidding into the fog and disappeared. He heard a “crash!”, and then all was quiet. The silence stretched on it seemed forever; then he heard,

     “What in the hell are you doing out here? When I got this report of someone hitch hiking out here, I thought to myself, ‘Who would be stupid enough to risk getting hit by a car, in this weather?’ Then I see it’s not just anybody, it’s an officer on the job, and he wiped me out!”

     Sheit; “Aya...” and he took off running into the fog.

 

     Red Nekk had never been so cold. He sat not far from the road, waiting for the fog to lift. He was freezing! At last, the fog began to lift, burning off with the warming rays of the morning sun. He tried to stand, but his legs gave way, and he slumped back against the tree he was sitting against. With the last of his strength he managed to rise to his feet. He then tried to take a halting step, and the unimaginable pain shook him to the core. He knew if he didn’t get warmed up soon, he was in big trouble. He finally willed his legs to move, and lurched forward towards the road. When at last he reached it, he looked for approaching vehicles. A station wagon was coming along towards him, and he stuck his thumb into the air. He caught a quick glimpse of children’s faces glued to the window as the car sped up and rapidly pulled away from him.

     “Goe too hell, yew suns of biches!” he screamed at the car as it flew past him, and he lifted his hand in a 1-digit salute. Sheit.  With his spirits flagging, he returned his gaze up the road. His clothes had a white sheen of frost on them, as he spotted a camper coming towards him. It slowed and stopped just beyond him. Tank hayvans! The camper was stopped about 100 yards beyond him, but it might as well been 100 miles, for as he tried to walk towards it, the stiffness in his joints was almost beyond belief. He staggered his way towards the waiting camper, but it never seemed to get any nearer. After what seemed to be an eternity, he at last reached the passenger door. As he was reaching for the door handle, the camper suddenly shot another 50 feet down the shoulder of the highway. What? Once again it stopped, the camper driver’s arm beckoned to him, and a voice yelled,

     “Ah, got you, eh, ha, ha; I was only kidding you, eh, ha, ha!”

     Dat iz funny, wew-hew!  Once again he staggered toward the waiting camper. When finally he had made it, and reached for the door handle, the camper once again lurched forward, but this time stopped a couple of feet away. Earle Edgar was pissed; he stood where he was and glared at the camper. Then a razor-thin, super-tall laughing man with black hair and wearing an “I’m with Stupid” tee shirt got out and said,

     “No, I’m just kidding you again; eh, ha, ha; come on, I won’t move it again. Come on and hop in. You don’t look so good!”

     Aya, haw, haw, yer an milion lafs!  This time when his frozen fingers reached for the door handle, the guy inside was already swinging it open. He managed to lift his ice-cold body into the passenger seat, and he buckled his seatbelt with shaking fingers. The guy, who had, eventually, picked him up said,

       “Hi friend, my name is Jimmy Reno. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I’m a pretty well known comedian.”

     “Noe, Eyema sory.”

     “No? Well, I’m really not surprised. Most of my better comedy was written under pen names. You know that joke about a guy who walks into a bar? Mine; and I could list many more, but modesty prevents me. What’s your name and claim to fame?”

     Dis gies fuwl ov sheit!  “Plesd ta meat ya. Mi nams Era---ah--Browek Slatar and upintal recantely, Eye wuz da guvner ov Aliba--err�"employad; butt noww Eyema uyanempoyad.”

     “No fooling? Are you wearing that police uniform because you’re a macho s***head? Halloween’s over. Eh, ha, ha!”

     He’d forgotten he even had it on; he’d been so focused on getting warm, he’d completely forgotten. “Aya, beefore Eye becam unemplyad, Eye wuz an copp. Eye, aya, amm onn mi waye ta, aya, Knew Mexaco, ta fyn werk a*s a copp, wunce agane.”

     “Oh, well good luck with that. Coincidentelly, I’m on my way the go hunting in New Mexico, and while I’m there, I thought I might scare up a stand-up competition. Writing is what I’m known for, but hey, when you’re funny, you’re funny, huh? Eh, ha, ha!”

     Yaya, weh, haw, haw!  “Sownds lik an plann. Jimie, wuud ya min ifn Eye ryid all lonweng? Eyla bee qiet a*s an mowas.”

     The coincidence of his saying he was headed for New Mexico and the man who’d stopped to give him a ride also headed for New Mexico was amazing. He didn’t have a clue why he’d said New Mexico; it was the first place that had popped into his head. He had no clue where he was headed.

     “No, I’ll be glad to have you. I need someone to try my new jokes out on.”

     Sheit!

 

     Earle Edgar had warmed up, thanks to the truck’s heater, and now he just had to find some kind of food. But first, just to make conversation, he said,

     “Eyats funi, yer naam iz Jimy, ayand Eye usd ta bee frum an towen cawled Jimyvil.”

     “Oh, you don’t say! What are the odds? That particular town was named after my 5th great-great cousin, Jimmy Hunter. His grateful neighbors decided to name the town after him. It was just named Ville, but they were so grateful for his shooting enough game for all of them to survive in the harsh winter of 1890, they decided to rename the town in his honor!”

     “Ya muss bee kyden?”

     “Yeah, I am. It must just be a coincidence.”

     “Boye, ya reeli hayad mi gowen daar! Eye allmos bee�"”

     Then he spotted a lunch box, and his whole body seemed to quiver. “Aya, sa Jimie?”

     “Okay; Jimmy. Eh, ha, ha!” interrupted Reno.

     Owe, fer Krists sayak!   “Dew yew half aniting Eye mite eet?”  He was famished. He’d drank water, but had had nothing to eat for quite a while.

     “Sure, Brock, there’s a box of cracker---”

     As soon as Jimmy had pointed them out, Earle Edgar could no longer control himself and grabbed the box, and as the crackers spilled into his hand, he started throwing them at his face.  He ate like a wild man, until the box was empty and cracker crumbs covered his face and the seat.

     Holy s***, the dude’s a human pirahna, thought Jimmy.  “Man, you weren’t kidding about being hungry; I’d offer you something to wash them down with, but I’m afraid you might start nawing on the bottle, and chew your lips off; eh, ha, ha!”

 

 

     After, what seemed to Earle Edgar so long that the camper surely must have circumnavigated the globe, twice, and time had lost all meaning, they at last had passed a sign that said, “Welcome to New Mexico” Praised be; all the way here, he’d been forced to endure Reno’s bile churning, pathetic, moronic, and not-the-least-bit humorous, jokes, or at least the things that Jimmy Reno thought of as jokes. They kept driving for a while, and as they drove into Roswell, he was planning for a way to lose the idiot.

     “Wel Eye tank yew fer da ryd, an da enturtanen converstatoin. Eyel juss git owat heer.”

     “Oh no, why not let me spring for a hotel room? You must be sick of sleeping in a camper.” 

     Sheit!   “Kno, dats oka. Eye gott sumpan ta dew.”

     “Nonsense; you’ve been a good companion, and I’d like to do something for you; besides, what is it that you have to do?”

     Dubel sheit!  “Aya, itts nutten. Eyeya gues Eye kan cowm wid yew. Tanks.”

 

     After all, he didn’t want to appear rude, and the thought of sleeping in a real bed did sound good. He guessed that he could put up with Reno for a little while longer.

 

     They had rented a room at a place called Big Eddy’s Motor Lodge, and when Earle Edgar had laid eyes on Big Eddy, he saw that his nickname was a complete joke; for “Big” Eddy must have stood about 4-9.

 

     As soon as they had checked into their room, Jimmy quipped, “Man, Big Eddy can bearly see over the counter! There must be some sort of violation of the child labor law. Eh, ha, ha!”

 

     They were settled in, but Earle Edgar was already regretting his choice to hang around. Their room was tiny; noisy because it was right next door to the ice machine; and had only one small bed.  When Reno had seen it, he’d quipped,

     “I’ve heard of growing closer, but this is ridiculous; eh, ha, ha!”

     Awe, haw, haw!   “Wel, yewv goota exchang ruums, dats awl.”

 

     “I’m sorry, sir, we’re all sold out. I can put you on our waiting list, and should another room open up, you’ll be given first chance at it,” said the new girl behind the counter.

     “You’re sold out? Just since we checked in? But when we pulled in, your parking lot was almost deserted.”

     “Sorry, sir, but with the big comedy talent show in our lounge, we’re getting a lot of walk-up customers; a lot more than we planned on.”

     Jimmy Reno’s ears pricked up. “Comedy Talent Show?”

     “Yes sir, competiters are coming from everywhere, I guess because Wally Squiers will be here.”

     “The head of B.A.A.D. Television, here in Roswell?”

     “Yep, needless to say, with a guy that powerful in attendance, every person who’s ever thought they were funny will be here.”

     “Well, I’ve got bad news for them; Jimmy Reno is in the house, or will be!”

 

     “Come on, Brock, you’ve just got to be there,” Jimmy Reno pleaded with Earl Edgar.  “I want you to get a taste of Jimmy Reno; wait, that didn’t sound too good! I just meant you’ll get to hear my material.”

     Eyeva awlredy tastid ya waa, waa two mutch, an wat Eyeva eeten haz mayad mi abowt bloww chunkes!  Earle Edgar thought.

     “Owe, Eyel juss sta upp hear inn da ruum an wach teluvison.”

     Watching Reno’s crestfallen face was too much for him to see. “Owe, owka, Eyel bee dare.”

     Damn, damn, why was he such a sap?

 

     The hotel’s lounge was overflowing. Jimmy had bribed the waiter so they got not only their drinks, but a table right up front. Earle Edgar sat nursing a rum and cola that Reno had paid for. There was one competitor to go, and then Jimmy Reno would go on. Earle Edgar looked around him at all the comediens; the guys dressed in cheap suits, the girls in cheap dresses or slacks.

     Yaya, yawe yer awle gonna bee da neyaxt byag comidy starrs.  Sumbuddy giv mi an brake!  he thought.

 

     The idiot up on stage was using a reject-looking dummy with 3 hairs sticking straight up and a lop-sided face, to do a lousy ventriliquist act; the guy was either a moron, or high, because he would say something that was supposed to be the dummy talking, and thrash his hand around violently. Anyone still watching him wouldn’t hear a word of the joke, because they’d be so busy trying not to get sick because of the violent motion of the dummy. As Earle Edgar was thinking this, the comic told a joke and the dummy was supposed to be laughing at the punchline, only the guy was so rough, the dummy’s head flew off and he was unable to continue. He tried in vain to carry on, but there was something disconcerting about a dummy with no head laughing at the comic’s jokes. The houselights came up, and the comic was lead offstage, dragging his headless dummy behind him. Then it was Jimmy’s turn. The houselights dimmed, and the announcer said,

     “Ladies and gentlemen, and whatever you are,” he said, pointing to an unattractive person sitting up front, “let’s give a big round of applause for a very funny man, Jiminy Remo!”

     Jimmy Reno heard the announcer butcher his name, and walked out into the glaring spotlight. The light seemed to burrow into his very soul. He couldn’t see! His mind was a total blank, as he desperately tried to remember any of his jokes. The piercing beam seemed to have wiped his mind clean. The audience sat in stony silence; as so far, the evening had been a total dud, and waited for the latest loser in what had been a whole line of losers to begin his unfunny speil. Earle Edgar could see that something just wasn’t right with Jimmy Reno. He was standing in the middle of the stage, blinking and looking around him in a panic.

 

     Jimmy Reno had forgotten every single joke after he’d been blinded by the spotlight. He knew he had to say something.

     “Ah, hello ladies and germs; I went out with this gal; I don’t want to say she was ugly, but the last gal I went out with who was so ugly, she and I went to a fishing derby!”

     Nothing but stony silence greeted his desperate stare.

     Owe kno, da punchlyne was suposed too bee, “Da lass ting Eye saww dat wuz a*s ugli hadd an huek inn itt!”

     As he listened to the first restless boos sound from the audience, Earle Edgar found himself starting to feel sorry for Jimmy Reno.

 

     He no longer wanted to be up here; Jimmy Reno heard a trickle of boos, which soon had become a torrent.

     “A guy walks into a bar,” oh no, his mind was frozen.

     “And the bartender says, “Hey pal, what’ll you have?” What the hell’s the punchline?  Oh yeah,“And the guy says, “What’s that drink with crap floating in it?”

 

     Now the boos reigned down on him, as the spectators vented their displeasure for the whole rotten evening. A beer bottle came hurtling through the air and nailed Jimmy square on the top of his head.

 

     Earle Edgar saw what was happening; the audience was poised to heap all of their pent-up rage at the quality of the entertainment they’d paid good money to see, and which in their opinion, sucked. When you mixed the fact they’d been drinking alcohol all night, and their opinion that they’d been ripped off, to which Earle Edgar had to agree, this could turn violent in a hurry. Jimmy Reno was on as the last comic, so he would probably bear the brunt of the crowd’s hostility. Jimmy was just coming to the punchline of the joke, and it had better be good! Jimmy said,

     “What’s that drink with crap floating in it?”

     What? That was his punchline? That’s when he saw the beer bottle, as it arced through the air and struck Jimmy right on the head; Jimmy dropped like a rock, and lay motionless. Before even he realized what he was doing, Earle Edgar, who had seen the thrower, jumped onto the stage, kept running across it, and launched himself into the crowd, landing right on the guy who’d thrown the bottle, screaming,

     “Whi yew ber bottal-throwen basterd!” and was throwing punches that the guy was too inebriated to deflect. He kept swinging rapid-fire, and soon the unfortunate victim’s head was bobbing left, then right, under Earle Edgar’s brutal attack. Suddenly, his arms were pinned behind his head, and a guy was yelling,

     “Easy, there, that’s enough!”

 

     The police had been called, and once again Earle Edgar found himself behind bars. Why did he always get in these tough spots?

 

     After he’d been in jail for a couple of days because he couldn’t afford bail, a rough-looking character wearing a green vest over a white dress shirt was thrown into his cell. A curious Red Nekk asked,

     “Hiya, watar yew inn fer?”

     The guy fixed him with a glassy-eyed stare, and mumbled, “Public drunk, dru, du---“blahhhh!” and let loose a torrent of vomit all down his front, turning the white dress shirt to a sickly yellow.

     “Gard, dis mann juss lawnched hiyas cookees evariware!”

     When he arrived outside Earle Edgar’s cell, the bored-looking guard replied, “Well then, you’d probably like to get out of there. You’re in luck; an inspector’s here to transfer you to your very own cell. He just wants you to answer a couple of questions about the riot tonight.”

     Riot?  Just then a giant man with thinning hair and a monsterous, red nose that was probably the result of heavy drinking, opened the cell and said,

     “Come with me please. I’ll need you to answer a couple of questions about tonight’s riot.”

     “Sur, mann, butt dare wuz kno riet. Eyea juss wayald oun won gie.”

     “Well I don’t know where you come from, but where I come from, that’s a riot.”

     What?  He followed the inspector to a nearby cell, and sat opposite him.

     “I’ll begin by saying I’m Inspector Bulbous Noclue. And just whom might I be addressing?”

     Earle Edgar answered dismissively. “Aya, Joyansen, Limpe Joyansen.”

     “Funny thing, Mr. Johnson, either our fingerprints of you are faulty, or you’re not who you say you are, because according to these results I’m holding, your name’s not Limp Johnson, but Earle Edgar Nekk. What do you have to say to that?”

     Kno duweh! “Eye donot kno whi itt wud sayy dat, cuz Eyema Limpe Joynsen.”

     “Well, to me you look like a Limp Johnson, so we’ll just say that’s who you are. Well, Mr. Limp Johnson, would you mind telling me just what happened?”

     “Aya, Eye didnot lik da wayy dat otter dewd wuz lukin att mi, sew Eye juss wen ovar dare ta askk himm wat da hel hee wuz luken att.”

     “How exactly was he looking at you?”

     Iz dis clowen fer reel?   “Owe, lik hee wuz crosiyed.”

     “Do you mean to tell me that you teed of on the guy simply because he looked at you crosseyed?”

     He was thinking, Dis gie haz gowet toobee da dumist muthar-fu---,

but before he could finish his thought, Inspector Noclue continued, “Well, I guess I can understand how being looked in that fashion might cause you to become angry. A person might feel that he was being made fun of. Well, Mr. Johnson, I’ll try to straighten out this fingerprinting mess, and then we’ll get you out of here.”

 

     Earle Edgar walked along the corridor of The Glowing Lights Hospital with a puzzled look on his face. He couldn’t think of a reason for his being here. After all, all he’d wanted to do was ditch Jimmy Reno, and now that he had the perfect opportunity, he was going to visit him in the hospital. Go figure!

 

     Jimmy Reno lay in his hospital bed, and tried not to move. His head was killing him. The doctor had told him he had sustained a nasty concussion when he’d been hit in the head by the flying beer bottle. He still couldn’t believe that someone had been so enraged that he had thrown a beer bottle. It was true that he’d been terrible, forgetting his jokes, but come on, it was only an amatuer comedy competition! Now he tried to remember his jokes, but the pain in his head made it impossible. And what had become of his friend, Brock? He hadn’t come to visit him in the last two days. Jimmy guessed he had just moved on. Well, it just went to show him that the people you may think are your friends, often turn out not to be. As he was thinking this, the door swung open and there stood Brock Slater.

 

     He reached for the hospital room door handle. Ittsa nott to layt ta turen arownd an juss waylk da otter wayy!  he thought. He just couldn’t do it, Reno needed a friend. He turned the handle and walked into the room. Jimmy Reno smiled with a grin of happiness and yelled,

     “Brock!” just a bit too loudly, and felt the gut-wrenching pain shoot through his pounding head. Oh, how he wished that he hadn’t done that, but he was just caught by surprise upon seeing Brock Slater. Then he said, in a lot quieter voice,

     “It’s good to see you, Brock. I thought after two days, surely I’d seen the last of you, and I know, don’t call you Shirley. Eh, ha, ha! ”

     Awe haw, dats hilaireus!  “Haya dare, Jimy, yaya, Eye kno yew wer probibley wundren wy Eye diwd nott cowm visetin ya suunor, butt Eye wuz incarsoratid.”

     “You’ve been in jail, for what?”

     “Owe, nutten.”

     “Come on Brock, you don’t get thrown into jail for nothing.”

     “Wel, okaya, Eye wuz incarsoratid fer fiten.”

     “Fighting, who?”

     “Da gie woo hiet ya wid da bottal.”

     Jimmy was suddenly overcome with emotion. Brock had gone to prison defending him.

     “Well, thank you Brock, and that was awfully nice of you. But how did you get out?”

     An embarrassed Earle Edgar answered, “Furss tings furss. Mi reel naams nott Browek Slaytar, itts Earal Edger Nekk; Redd ta mi acwantinses; an uppental recintly, Eye wuz da Guvner ov Alibama. A*s fer whi Eyema owet, dare wuz an mixeup owen da fingarpriwents, sew dayy releesed mi.”  Now why had he told Jimmy the truth?

    “Well, thank you for sticking your Nekk out for me. Eh, ha, ha, get it? Your Nekk? Eh, ha, ha; and like anyone would believe you were once the Governor of Alabama!”

     Earle Edgar groaned at the horrible play on words, and replied, “Yaya, Mi Nekk; Eyea gett itt!”  Wi mee?  he thought

     “An da ansewer ta yer otter stayatemint iz Eyea sorta cheeted.”

 

     Three days had passed and Jimmy was being released. After Earle Edgar, driving Jimmy’s camper, had picked him up, Jimmy asked,

     “Now what do you want to do?”

     Leeve, awlone!  he thought.

     He answered, “Eye sappos Eye ned ta fyn an jobb, an yew gott too git bak ta yer playc.”

     “Oh, I don’t really have a place to go back to. I think if it’s all right with you, maybe I’ll just hang around here. Hey, we can just live in my camper.”

     Tugethar? Sheit!

 

 

     Jimmy had admitted that he had run out of money, so they had parked the camper at a state park, and were settling into some semblance of a routine. Earle Edgar was sleeping on the floor, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than accepting Jimmy’s offer that they could just share the one and only bed. One morning, he’d awoken to Jimmy’s loud snoring, and after he’d freshened up, at least as much as much as he could after sleeping on the rock-hard floor, he said to a now-awake Jimmy Reno,

     “Seain a*s howw wee ar bothe brok, Eye tink itts tyme fer mi ta fynd werk, att leesed untill yew fynish werken owen yer comidy rewteen, an kan fyn imployemint.”

     Jimmy was trying to put together a comedy act, but he wasn’t having much luck.

     “I’m sorry that I haven’t finished it yet. I don’t know what the problem is. I thought we could just wait until I was finished, so I could make a living off my talent, but for some reason, the jokes just aren’t coming.”

     Eyeya gott newes fer ya, dayy ar nevar gowen ta com, eethor. Ya nevor hadd dem! he thought.

     “Owe, donut wury a boute itt, yewl git idias suun. Wel, wisk mee luk!”

 

     Earle Edgar was sitting in a restaurant, nursing his coffee, and looking through a Roswell newspaper, trying to find a job he might be qualified for. But so far, all the jobs he’d been interested in wanted either at least a high school graduate, or paid minimum wage. There was absolutely no way he could make it on minimum wage. Then his eye stopped on one particular help wanted ad:

     “Are you a natural at sales? If you are, we’d love to talk to you about selling our meat. Please contact Ed Hacker at 555-1001. Condensed Meat Corporation.”

     It sounded like just the right job for a person who had a way with words, a person like him. He had just dialed the number listed, and was waiting, rather impatiently, for someone to answer. Then there was a voice on the other end,

     “Condensed Meats.”

     Earle Edgar was momentarily distracted by the sound of a blaring T.V. and what sounded like a small child wailing in the background,

     “I don’t want to clean my room; I want to go outside and play!”

     “Ah, I’m sorry; can you please hold?”

     “Awlright.”

     Then he heard a muffled, “Do you want daddy to kick your a**? Daddy’s on the phone; now shut your yap!”  Then, “For whom were you wishing to speak?”

     This couldn’t be the correct place. “Aya, Eyem luken too speek too an Mistar Edd Hyaker plese.”

     “This is Mr. Hacker.”

     “Aya, Mistar Hyaker, mi naam iz Browek Slaytar, an Eyema calen a boute da meet-selen jobb. Ar yew stil luken fer sum won?”

     “Yes, we certainly are. Tell me, Mr. Slater, why do you want to sell our meat products?”

     Beekus Eye ned da muny! he thought, but answered, “Beecuss Eyel probly bee gud att itt.”

     “Well, let me tell you a few facts about m---err---the company, and you can decide whether or not you’re still interested. We’re an experimental company that is marketing a new kind of meat, zebra. So far we’---”

     “Wayet, isnot dare sum kinde ov laww agin dat?”

     “No there isn’t. Most people believe there is, however, which leaves the zebra meat market wide open.”

     “Plese, continew.”

     “As I was saying, so far we’ve not cracked open the meat market, but we are confident that with the right salesman, word of this nutritional, unique-tasting, and plentiful meat will spread far and wide. What do you say, Mr. Slater, do you think you have what it takes to bring zebra meat to the world, and make Condensed Meats a household name?”

     “Yeya, Mistar Hyaker, juss giv mi da chanse.”

     “Well then, you’re hired!”

     “Wundarful, wen dew Eye staret?”

      “How about being here on Monday morning, say 9am?"

     “Eyal bee dare. Howayld on, Mistar Hyaker, howw amiEye suposed too get “thare” ifn Eye donut kno wear “thare” iz?”

     “Oh, of course. I tell you what, how about we meet somewhere and I’ll hand over our sample? Then when you make a sale, just mark it down on a piece of paper, along with the customers’ address, and when the week is over, we can tally up your sales and we can pay you. Just tell your customer that we’ll deliver his or her order right to their house within a week. I know, how well do you know Roswell?"

     “Nott vari wel. Eye juss muved heer; an shudent da meet bee refridgarated?”

     “Ordinarily yes, but not for our meat because we’ve patented our “always-fresh” process; so our product stays fresh for days, without refrigeration.”

     “Owa, Eye cee.” In reality, he didn’t see at all.

     “Tell me, where are you staying?”

     “Aya, da stayet parke fer noww, juss untal Eye ern enuf muny too bee abal ta ofored sumpen beter.”

     “I’ll tell you what. Tell me the directions, and I’ll drop off your sample supply of meat product.”

     “Okaya, ya goe too da eayst sid ov da lak, an yewl cee an hole mes ov kampers an teyntts dare bi da lak, an yew driv inn untel yew cee an kamper sitten inn stawl # 44, an dats we are weyal bee.”

     “Got it; and I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning with your zebra meat. Glad to have you as the newest member of The Condensed Meats team, Brock.”

     And before the connection was cut, Earle Edger could plainly hear,

     “Would you shut up? I’ve had---”

     Earle Edgar wondered briefly about what was really happening on the other end of the phone connection, but was soon distracted by the realization that he was actually employed.

 

     It was Monday morning, and Earle Edgar was nervous. Behind him, Jimmy Reno said,

     “Red, would you relax? Women don’t want to get meat from a nervous guy. Slowly and calmly is the only way they’ll take your meat. Eh, ha, ha!”

Sheit, shutt yer fricken pye whole! he thought. He was in no mood for Reno’s lame jokes. Hacker would be here any moment to drop off the sample suppy of zebra meat, and he wanted and needed to get started selling. He wanted to sell a s***-load, to prove to Hacker he could sell anything to anybody, using his natural way with words. Just then, there was a knock on the camper door. He shouted,

     “Comm inn, Mistar Hyaker.” No one answered. Earle Edgar was not in the mood for this.

     “Eyye sayad, comm inn, Mistar Hyaker.” Still nothing.

     Owe, fer Krists sayk!  He crossed the 5x8 living room and yanked open the door. His angry gaze fell upon a man wearing a park ranger’s uniform. His anger quickly left him, and he asked,

     “Maye Eye hep yew?”

     “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I need to see your park permit.”

     “Owe, Eye wuznt ayware dat wee needid ani kynd ov parkk permet.”

     “Yes sir; a permit is required for overnight stays, and we’ve let it slide, but you’ve been camped here for 3 days now, so we’ve got to make things right.”

     Just then Mr. Hacker pulled up driving a 4-door station wagon with the words, “Condenced Meats” crudely spray painted on the side.

     “Good morning Brock, is there a problem?” he asked, looking at the park ranger.

     “Eye gess wee ned sum kynd ov permyt too stayy heer.”

     The park ranger spoke up, “Yes, but now that you know the proper procedure, if you’ll just fill out the proper forms, you can continue your stay with us.”

     Ed Hacker saw a golden opportunity to put the next phase of his plan into action. He hadn’t been sure until now just how to take advantage of the 2 marks, but now it became apparent to him.

     “I’ll tell you what you guys can do. You can park your camper in the parking lot of our company; that way you won’t have to worry about any paperwork or permits. It will save me from having to drive here in the company car.”

     He glanced at the odometer and saw the 278,000 miles his 20 year old behemouth had on it, and smirked.

     “Ar yew sur Mistar Hyaker?"

     “Yes, absolutely. If you’ll just follow me, I’ll get you situated. I’ll just call ahead and let them know you have my personal permission to park on our premises.” He dialed a nonsense number on his cell, and said to the shocked person who’d answered,

     “Gordo’s House of Whips, this is Monica speaking. How may I help you today?”

     “Yes, this is Hacker calling, and I want you to know I’ve given the company’s permission for new employee Brock Slater to park his camper in our lot.”

     “Excuse me, sir?”

     “We’re headed over there right now. Please have Donaldson move his car. What? Yes I‘m aware of the fact he just got his beamer painted, but he’ll just have to park under the trees. His usual spot would be ideal for Mr Slater’s camper.”

     “This is The House of Whips, sir, an�"”

     Hacker interrupted her, “Thank you, Miss Sandusky, we’ll be there shortly,” and he hung up the phone.

     “Now that that’s taken care of; if you’ll please follow me?”

     “Gee, it’s very nice of Mr. Hacker to offer us a spot in his company lot,” said Jimmy Reno, as they followed Ed Hacker’s company car. Earle Edgar had introduced Jimmy to Hacker, and told him of Hacker’s offer.

     “Yeya, itt wil sav us da trubal ov haven ta meyas wit da dam permets,” answered Red Nekk.

 

 

 

     Ed Hacker’s mind was whirling. Had he pulled it off so easily? He’d told his marks that his company had a parking lot where they could park their camper. Part of him still couldn’t believe these two morons were falling for his b.s; zebra meat? But he was just thankful they had swallowed his con. Now came the tricky part, trying to convince them that his 30-year-old mobile home was actually a business office. He wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to pull this off, but one thing was certain; his little 8-year-old son had better keep his yap shut; he’d almost blown his scam twice already.

 

     This was it? As they turned into the driveway of Hacker’s supposed business office, all they saw was an old single-wide mobile home.

     “Wat da hels dis?” exclaimed Earle Edgar. Both he and Jimmy looked around in disbelief. Then Ed Hacker got out of his car, walked back to where Earle Edgar and Jimmy sat, and after Earle rolled down the camper’s window, said,

     “I thought instead of the company’s parking, lot you might feel more comfortable parking here, at the home of one of our employees, Dave Zimmer. Dave is currently travelling abroad, to spread the word of our tasty zebra meat, so you can park here in his driveway without worrying that you’re in somebody’s way, and our processing plant is close by. Of course, you’ll have to stay in your camper, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

     “Myet wee tayek an luuk att da planet?” asked Earle Edgar.

     “Ah, I’d love to show you it, but unfortunetely we’ve just had a small fire; nothing serious, but there are repair personell running in and out all day, and the place is a madhouse. You’d probably want to stay well clear of that kind of a mess.”

     “Butt reyally, weed lik ta cee itt, juss da sam, woodent wee, Jimy?”

     “Sure, but we wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

     “And you probably would be. I’ll tell you what; as soon as the repairs are done, I’ll take you guys to see the plant."

     “Fayar enuf.”