Let's write a book together - right here

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The deed has been done, but I am not the one

I took care of her need, but sowed no seed

For, I was in my bean bag chair

and smoked a big bag of weed

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Meanwhile, on the other side of the Village, in the Green Belt adjacent to the Winton Woods Walking trail down the hill from the "B" Section of the Village, two middle aged maidens were walking on the trail when they heard some rustling of leaves to their right. The maidens froze in fear not knowing what danger was lurking in their midst.

Their fears were well founded: before their very eyes appeared a diminutive ugly man, all greenish and covered with leaves. Their first impression was that he was a Troll, but then they remembered the old legend about this man.

THEY HAD JUST ENCOUNTERED THE GREENHILLS LEPRECHAUN. Sadly this leprechaun did not carry a pot of gold. but something much more sinister.

The maidens knew that their innocence was in danger. They were afflicted with great fear and also some anticipation, because they suspected that there were no gallant men in the village who would save them. Was their fear justified?


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I took it upon myself to join all the posts together to "write" the book. Enjoy.

Also, You're Welcome!

Chapter 1.

The small town was just like every other small town that was just like it. The thing is, there weren’t any other small towns just like it. So this one was different. And that made ordinary life there just a little bit out of the ordinary. Not much, just a little bit. There are some little distinctions like that you have to be able to understand if you’re going to understand the story of this town, of Greenhills. Yes, Greenhills-- with two caps and no space in between. See what I mean? Just a little out of the ordinary.

Here’s another distinction. While the town was a small but not quite ordinary town, the people that lived in it were more or less ordinary. I mean they don’t have laser vision powers, or all drive little electric cars with matching purple bumper stickers or anything out of the ordinary like that. But even though they are “ordinary” they really aren’t what you’d call “normal”. The people living in Greenhills are clearly, plainly and indisputably quite odd. Every last one of them.

Well, before we get too far into the story, maybe I'd better clear something up. There was a rumor that one of the residents actually did have laser vision. Nobody saw him very much. He tended to stay in the basement of his Uncle's house. People were pretty much glad of that. He had beady, bright red eyes. Lots of people look like that in photographs, but he looked like that in real life. That's why the kids in the neighborhood thought he had laser vision. Some of the adults in town thought it was just the result of too much time in a dark, dank, dungeon of a basement, staring at a computer screen. Others thought it came from too many dinners of chipmunk meat. There were lots of rumors, lots of theories. The only thing everyone could agree on was that Edge was a freaky kind of character.

For many, "freaky" didn't go near far enough. A typical conversation around the neighborhood bar, at least the one in the bowling alley, ran something like the one down there last Tuesday.

"Freaky?" said Nutter, responding to a conversation further down the bar. "Freaky ain't the half of it. I think he's the one that did it. I think he's guilty as hell."

"C'mon!" shouted Byrl. At least if you didn't know Byrl you'd think he was shouting. But he was just talking. "C'mon! What are you talking about? The guy doesn't even exist. He's make believe, like the boogey man!"

"Did what?" from down at the other end of the bar, "Guilty of what?"

"Well, I don't know," Nutter admitted. "Guilty of whatever it is that changed everything around here. Maybe he did something on that danged computer that is messing with everybody's heads. Maybe he plugged the Ouija Board into the light socket. Maybe he killed too many chipmunks and threw the world out of balance. I don't know. But something happened, and I think he did it."

That's when they heard it. And then, when they walked out the side door, which for the first time in a long time offered a view, long and clear, they saw it. And they saw the truck that did it. But none of them saw who was driving the truck as it careened out of the parking lot and around the corner, a few aluminum poles and stretches of fence still clanging and bouncing along behind, tangled in the chain and rope off the bumper hitch.

The Boogeyman? Nutter asked, laughing.

Like hell, said Byrl. All I know is whoever is driving Jeff's red truck better be careful them poles don't bounce around and bang hell out of the sides.

Chapter 2.

The next day Jeffy was in the driveway looking at his banged up truck and wondering how that happened and why this kind of stuff always happened to him.

He opened the door, leaned in and checked himself out in the rearview mirror. He did that a lot. Jeffy thought he was good looking. And if you were a woman that was 3 foot 7, slightly balding except for that thick mat of black hair that covered your back, had six toes on your left foot, and had had an eighteen month long run of bad luck, you might agree with him.

But, back to the story. He looked into the rear view mirror and noticed Twinkie the Kid behind him. Jeffy, was shocked that someone actually showed up to visit him because he was so grotesque.

A maiden cried out, "I'm Illona and I need a man!" Coming from afar, a man on a horse with a cig burnin', thumped across the land. He rushed towards her on a black stallion, bare back. Her heart pounded as she saw her man nearing her. The smell of to-baccy wrenched throughout the fog-driven land. He passed her up shouting, "D'yares a beer club in five minutes. Sorry, Lassie! Gots to go!"

She tore off her Sex Pistols shirt hoping that another manly man would sweep her up off her feet. A man in a pedal car - no taller than a gnome (pert near) came a bikin' up. "You wanna come over to my house, sugar-svence?"

That lady climbed aboard the shuttle on Ingram and all the while, poor Jeffy was just standing there, watching it all happen and feeling very dazed and confused. When he felt this way, which was often, it always gave him comfort to recall that was wearing his Roger Bacon Spartan underwear. He had 16 pairs: 7 boxers, 7 briefs, and 2 thongs, for those days when he needed to feel extra special.

But the pedal-powered idiot mobile, having passed him by, like so much of the world always seemed to do, kept cruising up Ingram with its gnome-like driver and new passenger, when suddenly out of the bushes jumps none other than that world class arborist known to many in the small, ordinary town as "Radar Waltz ". He seemed in a daze, his red eyes gleaming, and stumbled a bit as he approached the eedjit-mobile while waving his 4 foot long flashlight around, searching for retinal contact.

"Pullitoverbushter", said Waltz, wiping a white powdery substance from his nasal area as he did so. He reached for his utility belt, and pulled out a large, greasy cheeseburger and said "y'all don't mind if I get a bite here duz ya? Lunch breaks were not an option as Radar Waltz was collecting frequent menace miles. He was just 853 misdemeanors away from his most coveted prize, "Biggest Douche In The Universe". The coveted award had been snatched from him the year before by a Glaxon from the Planet Nebular. Radar had gone so far as to throw his wife a birthday party at Riley's. The party lasted 2 1/2 hours. Little did the guests know that Walt had discretely snuck out and chalked the tires of all their cars and wrote them tickets for staying too long in the 2 hour zone.

"Young lady, where is your shirt?" he asked Illona.

"The 'girls' just needed some air" Ms. Ilona giggled as she pulled on a Social Distortion tiny T. "Don'tcha love ironic band names?" Suddenly she grabbed Radar by the lapels, got straight in his grill and calmly said: "Now listen up Walz, we need your help. We intend to pay a visit to the Village Idiot, Mrs. Chalmers, tonight. Help us defeat her or I will splash you're shenanigans all over the GH Gazette...... if we publish again!"

"Whoa now," said Waltz "I'm not going anywhere near that old bat without a lawyer!"

Just then, out of the darkness, "Did shumbody (hic) call fer a loyer?" hollered a disheveled UB-43, an ordinary local, who had been laying unseen along the sidewalk. UB had apparently "stopped to rest" on his way home from a local watering hole. He was a square-jawed fellow of avg height, stocky athletic build, and a beautiful full head of lovely greying hair.

Claiming yet again to be a lawyer, UB jumped in the idiot mobile with a hearty "O-H!"

The others were leery of UB-43 joining them, but there was nothing anybody could do to stop him. Besides he had started singing inanities to his poor sainted wife (local heroine), and now threatened to continue the brutal auditory assault unless he was included.

So in answer to himself, to no surprise, UB hollered out "I-O!" and the motley crew crept off. Boy, was the gnome pissed, "friggin' lawyers" he muttered, peddling his ass off!

Ilona stripped bare again and began rummaging for her "Southern Culture on the Skids" shirt.

"Howdy Ma'am! Can I help ya?" Some folks still talk that way in this odd town of Greenhills. "My name's Carini, Cary Carini. Wow, I looove your outfit, buy you a mint Julep?"

"Why thank you very much Mr. Cary Carini...." Ilona purred, wriggling into her shorts "but actually I'm looking for someone a little more.........Burley. You see, I'm on a mission tonight."

"A mission? Wow, a mission! I'm into that position! Heh. Er. Well don't let my black socks, pink crocs, and Eagles T fool you, I'm in! What's the plan?"

"Plan?", she responded, "we don't have much of a plan. More like a goal". They all knew they were incapable of slaying this dragon, but they knew who could. He had an encounter with Ms. Chalmers once before and lived to tell about it.

Cary hopped aboard as the idiot-mobile continued down Japonica to Junedale where they took a left.

It was Friday, so they knew Edge might be emerging from the cellar to restock his beer supply for the weekend. When they pulled up to Edge's crib they were not surprised by all of the commotion. Uncle, Beerbob, Kovu, and old neighbor Phro were throwing cornhole and drinking what appeared to be Negra Modelo which he assumed Beerbob supplied due to his superior taste in malty beverages.

Cary being of the "bum" type asked double B for a Modelo however BB had given his last one to Edge down in the basement. Spoondogg was coolin on the couch and gave up one of his last C45 40's and Cary wrapped it up with a skirt and took it outside. After chugging the 40 Cary talked the fellas into going over to Chalmers and visiting w/uknowwho, they piled in the flintstone mobile and peddled as the tires became all wheel. When they arrived at the destination they were greeted by a small crowd of people milling around with their dogs, all on leashes.

"Dog Park?" asked Illona.

"Woof!" answered UB-43.

"UB you idiot" hissed Judster who had been hunkered down hiding behind one of the many lawn signs, "she was askin' a question, not issuing an order!"

"Oh," said BB, "they've brought their dogs to have them pee on the front yard shirt. Good idea."

UB, who had only heard the first word BB said, yelled loudly, "Aitch" then collapsed, giggling.

Two red beams started drawing wavy, curvy lines on the side of the house. They all turned to look at Edge, whose beady red eyes were glowing as bright as Mama's hopes at the beginning of another Muskie hoop season.

"Well I'll be doggone," purred Illona, peeling out of yet another top and wondering if this was the right situation for her pale yellow spaghetti strapped Cramps teddy, "he does have laser vision powers." She was...curious.

"You got any other super-powers you want to tell me about?" she asked. "I always wanted to meet a real man of steel, if you know what I mean", but Edge was not to be distracted. He held his head steady and stared straight ahead. The lights stopped winding along side of the house and became still. Two red dots of light expanded, becoming brighter, more intense. That's when a window flew open, and to their collective horror the wicked witch of the west side stuck her collective bum out the window and mooned the gathering crowd.

"Never seen her good side before", said Jeffy." Vast improvement on the other end of her"

The crowd muffled a roar of approval. But the Wicked Witch took it as approval for her behavior.

The dogs, seeing one of their own, were becoming hard to handle.

Chapter 3

Now just south of the 'Hills was a strange ole gal named Sue. She wasn't sure what side of all the calamities and goins' on in the north sector of town she was on. She poured a Margarita from an ice cold blender that her Mama had made and chilled out in her pond.

She said, "Mama what ya think about all the calamity goins' on in the village?"

Mama said, "Shhhhhh, Sue. Do you see that thingy up dare in dat tree? Hand me your BB Gun. Dat right dare is a Crow. I'm gonna shoot it."

And with one shot, Mama, took it out. Mama handed the BB gun back to sue and asked if she'd read any good books lately.

"Well, there's something new out by that local reporter, trying his hand at fiction. I couldn't read it. It was terrible. He can kill a story line faster than a school levy activist can yell, 'Group Hug!' "

Chapter 4.

Edge sat alone again in the basement, flossing his teeth with the stripped bare tail of a chipmunk. The carnage of the evening’s events worried him not a whit. He was going to miss his favorite Drive-by Truckers shirt, but it had been worth it.

He took the cordless screwdriver from the table, and started unscrewing the plate in the back of his head Illona sat back and watched the chaos that was forming around the little town. Knowing the men folk were under a spell of some sort, she proudly pulled a t-shirt down from the tree in her yard which read "Legends are overrated" and headed to the lanes. An eerie calm settled over her as a lone wolf howled in the distance. Kicking a dead crow on the sidewalk to the curb, she smiled and knew her master plan was in full swing, but neglecting to remember that the screws that held the titanium plate fast to his cranium were #10 torks, not phillips, which was what he had loaded in his 14.4 volt driver. Try after try resulted in nothing more that rounding off the edges of the screws, and he threw up his hands in disgust and bellowed cursive words for all the neighbors to hear. "Frickem frackum frookum splutz", he blathered, throwing the cordless across the room at the wall, but missing it and instead impaling his favorite piece of furniture, a ratty old scarlet and grey bean-bag chair given to him in college by his old smokin' buddy Jay-san Ovaltine. He rushed over to his beloved throne, pulled out the offending tool, and jumped back in horror as he saw what came out of the chair. It was not beans, as he had expected, but rather a golden looking fluid that smelled like......BEER. Little did he know that when the screwdriver has pierced the bean bag chair that it had gone all the way thru and into his basement wall. It then had broken thru the wall and broke a pipe on the other side of his basement wall.

"Why would beer be going thru an underground pipe" he said out loud. But not too loud.

He quickly scrambled together several remnants of his old still and tapped into the underground pipe.

"Mess with me will they" he said as he hefted the first draft to his lips.

"Ahhhh, nectar of the gods, Mothers milk I say." he gloated. He was thinking free beer for the rest of his life.

Meanwhile on the other side of town, Superfoulous was noticing a sudden loss of pressure in his beer tap.

'What the hell is going on now?" he said. "If that damn BB has tapped into my private supply again there will be hell to pay". Cockroaches. Billions of them. They spread over the floor like a spilled six-pack. He started doing the Michael Jackson moonwalk, leaving a dark line of crushed bugs that contrasted with the shinier mass of live bugs that, like a shadow lengthening in the evening, was spreading up the walls.

At the same time, in another part of town, another crisis was brewing. Judster was home. Sitting on the couch, quietly, reflectively. It was an unusual scenario and he was enjoying it. His boy had had a break-out night for the defending world champion private Catholic high school football team, returning one interception for a touchdown and recovering a fumble on kick coverage and taking that to the house as well. He had a good beer buzz from the cooler he’d snuck into the game. He looked around at the tidy house, full of the memorabilia and knick-knacks that a man who likes solid objects tends to collect. Bottle caps. Album covers. A small clear plastic case with a fully assembled chipmunk skeleton he’d won at Beer Klub. He was content. A music fan, he started singing along with the tune his wife was humming as she sat at the table behind him, putting pictures into a scrap-book.

“Red, red wine. It’s up to you. All I can do, I’ve done…” He stopped short and turned around. He looked at the picture behind the table where his wife was sitting, the picture of the two of them from years ago when they had not a care in the world. Then his eyes came down to her, sitting at the table. In an Ohio State jersey. Had he ever bought an Ohio State jersey? “Just one thing makes me forget. Red, red wine….” She smiled at him, just as in the picture, as if he hung the moon. But still, UB-40, Buckeyes. That bastard.

Without realizing it, he made a few clicking sounds with his tongue against the back of his teeth. He went to the kitchen, opened the drawer next to the fridge and got out the Beretta 9 mil. Full clip, chamber was clear. Sliding it into the side pocket of his cargo shorts he turned and headed towards the door. “Honey,” he said, “I’m gonna run up to the ‘Cat. This won’t take long.”

Ilona, driving her electric car with the purple bumper sticker on her way home from the graveyard, smiled.

Back at the Wicked Witch of the West sides chambers, the crowd had grown larger.

The dogs were baying loudly as the Wicked Witch had become stuck in the window with her best side flapping in the wind.

"Is she winking at me?”, asks Jeffy.

Up at the 'Cat, Judster strolled in and there was UB-43 in his usual spot. There were some young ladies in the place, looking a little creeped out as UB was slurring the words to Hang on Sloopy.

Judster looked at the goofy grin, and as UB-43 turned to face him, he looked into his eyes and it was like looking into an aquarium. Yeah, there might have been a little activity going on there, but you could see right through to the other side. He was completely transparent and completely non-threatening. And with that, the suspicion and anger melted out of Judster like CO2 bubbles dissolving into a newly poured Guiness.

"Judster! Didja like the jersey I ordered for you? Did you know you could buy stuff from a computer without even going to a store? They'll send the stuff wherever you tell 'em to!"

From the power lines at the side of Winton Road, 6 crows dove towards the little electric car. The leader of the crows, a disturbingly annoying and mildly retarded female named Prayuhkun, aimed a putrid squirt of guano right at the small vehicle. "Let's see how they like them apples", she cackled. As she released her bomb earthward, the sudden drop in weight caused her to swoop upwards and slightly to the right, and smash into this guy: “Golden Eagle”. It was Dorothy's big brother P-Hue. Coming back to wreck havouc on the Wicked Witch of the West Side. After Dorothy told him all the bad things that ol' WWWS had done to her, he was ready to seek his revenge on her.

Dodging the crows in the village, Illona sped faster in her car. A small bead of sweat started to form on her upper lip and a smile spread across her lips. The plan was going well. The men were turning on eachother. It was a very simple plan afterall. Mess with the village beer supply and they will turn on eachother faster than an elderly woman can look up Ohio revised codes.

A figure darted across the road and she braked hard. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? Was that really D Hue running down Gambier wearing nothing but a tutu and heals? Again in the distance a wolf howled. Things were going well. ...the Big Three.

He knew where to find them.

It was 8:42 p.m., so his twin brother would be out for a jog on Gambier in his tutu. Another member of the triumvirate would have just finished using his funnelator to launch ketchup filled balloons from his back yard on Hadley towards the soccer teams practicing n the field at the end of the street. Yeah, Hedley from Hadley would be on his way to the 'Cat by now, to hook up with UB-43 and Judster. (It was, after all, Bible study night.) And biggest, baddest, toughest of the Big Three, the woman that really called the shots, would be typing into her web-TV sending instructions to conservative sleeper cells around the world. No, you didn't so much as sneeze in the 'Hills without checking with Big Momma DJ first. In fact, the first two members of the Big Three really didn't matter. They were the little two and the Big One. He stopped flapping his large cartoon wings and landed on the Pioneer weathervane on top of the gazebo to ponder.

Who really called the shots around here? What did they have in common? There was Big Momma DJ, Ilona, Citigrrrl...even the leaders of the evil horde, including the Wicked Witch herself were all.... A chill ran through him as he realized the awful truth, they were all women! They controlled half the money and all the sex and now they have control of the beer, it was a dark day in the village. As he contemplated the implications of living in a Boobtatorship he wept bitter tears, and shat on the Gazebo roof. The men around here were nothing more than comic relief! What to do? What to do? And with the beer supply in danger, how long could the men last?

Chapter 5.

Meanwhile, back on the west side, the GHFD had arrived on the scene to help whatsername remove her good side from the window. The first volunteer on the scene had a British accent. On a certain street in the village a group of women gathered holding their plastic pumpkin cups full of chardonnay and toasted each other. It was all so simple. Things had gone well. Somewhere on the opposite side of the village PHue fixed his lipstick and leaned back in his easy chair. The gentle sounds of Celine Dion comforting him. A tear rolled out of the corner of his eyes. He had been defeated or so she thought. But there was trouble in Boobadise. Some of the other women were getting a little tired of Ilona flashing her wares all the time. They were starting to break up into factions: Nudies and non-nudies.

And what really would have concerned the women, had they known about it, was that on the West Side, the second volunteer on the scene was an IrishJester with a TV camera. Hedley showed up next, with his funnelator and ketchup balloons. Edge had returned too, with the last few cups of golden brew from the now devastated and dry beer pipeline. Next were PHue and DHue, who explained what they had figured out. The men were aghast. They quickly outlined a plan. A crazy, silly, nutty plan. Yes, things were going to get very interesting. But first things first, “Who's going for beer?”

Hedley took it upon himself to accomplish this mission. He was aware of something the others were not. He resided in the bastard tract, an area outside of GreenHills. He knew that there actually was civilization on the other side of Winton Ocean. If there were men there, there had to be beer.

Hedley collected a few twenties and was on his way.

Edge, a man of few words, then took the crowd by surprise when he exclaimed: "I have an idea." Hedley started on his way and made it just past the sign to "Porky's Farm" when the car started to sputter and coasted to a stop. "Damn!" he cried, realizing his wife had been the last to drive the car and being part of the grand scheme had not filled the tank up with gas. Alone on the side of the road he wept. The women were on to their next mission. Combine open mic night with a basket/tupperware party. The men would never know what hit them.

It was then the hysteria society showed up in the C section of town trying to insist the arse hanging out the window needed to be left alone, as it was part of the original town development. Not knowing that the she-ites were going to sabotage the last remaining event that the men could participate in, a plan was under way to do away with all the girly acoustic music and bring in the high voltage rock n roll with massive amounts of distortion. The loud and distorted music helped with the production of testosterone. A product that was in short supply in the 'Hillz. The Wicked Witch could hear that the fire dept. was outside trying to dislodge her rather enormous bum. She said," Send up the little guy that talks with an accent. I have need of him." Following the orders of the department, the man with the accent stayed back, feeling it was best to stay off to the side in the event he was needed on the ground elsewhere. Somewhere in the “”I section a stray cat was in fear of being neutered by fellow villagers. The cat's had last been seen hiding in a pile of branches left over from the giant storm of '08.

The women gathered in a circle and started to plot even further. First on the agenda was the beer supply, then open mic night, the fixing of stray cats...and then it clicked..."If we can do it to the cats in the neighborhood what is stopping us from the men as well?" Ilona ran into her house to grab a rusty pair of scissors. Our testosterone laden heroes huddled together, hunched over with their heads a few scant inches apart, breathing heavily. Golfbong was the first to speak. "What do we do ?" he stammered, crossing his legs in a feeble attempt to quell the rising liquid in his loins. " These broads are taking away our MANLINESS, and by God, I won't stand for it !"

" Take it easy, Yoko", said Wyoming Wanker, " let the man speak, for crying out loud." With that, the very End Of The Earth began to lay out his counter-evil plan.

"The first thing we have to do is to out-flank these chickadees, and to do that, we've got to steal all of their "tool kits". You know, their make-up cases. Then, they can't go outside at all, not even to get the paper. So, let's split up and cover the whole town. UBover40, you've got the A section. Golfbong, you got the B's. AlwaysonMondayafternoons, you get the C section...sorry dude, but you drew the short straw on this one. Myself, Nutty, Jude and P and D will cover the east side of town. We'll all meet back here at 6:00 to burn the makeup, so good luck and Godspeed... On one.. Ready..."

With that the intrepid group split with a clap and a "BREAK", just like a real football team. It was at that precise moment that it happened. What the men had not figured out was that after having no power for days on end the women no longer felt the need for curling irons and makeup. Some were even seen throwing their bras into the burning pile of storm debris on Ingram.

Several of the women bent over in laughter, noting that the last supply of make-up had been purchased at a Mary-Kay party, and had been charged to their husband’s cards. The women packed themselves into Ilona's electric car and headed for the G section. Rumor had it there was a sailor over there that was at the top of the list. "We need to get this done quickly girls" Ilona informed the group. "I need to be home fairly early. Ghost Whisperer is on tonight and I have whites in the dryer!"

A strange noise from the back seat caught the girls attention....it was the cat!

As the men dispersed to their respective sections, an idea was starting form in P-Hue's mind.

"Men, I need to make a small detour. I'll catch up with you later," he said.

You see, P-hue had spent many an evening sitting on his front porch amongst the wind chimes and hummingbird feeders. He felt that if the men were going to take back the Hillz, then he should start at home. P-Hue had decided that his 25" Craftsman lawn mower had sat idle long enough. P-Hue was going to strike the first blow for Testosterone, He was going to reclaim his own front yard! UBover40 sat in his living room waiting for his wife to let him out. There was a crisis in one of the Catholic schools and until it was settled he was banned from attending any of the village evil doings. Over on Gambeer a certain someone was getting ready to start on his yard. Suddenly his wife appeared at the door. Fish net stockings, push up bra and a dos equis in hand. "You are done" she exclaimed. The sailor hung his head and turned toward the house. he remembered the last time they had a conflict like this. It ended up with him seeing things her way three days later. That's because it took that long for the swelling to go down.

People still debate whether it was a flash of brilliance or a moment of insanity, but he looked up at her and said

"now hear this,"

"I am the man, you are the woman."

"What I say goes. You will say nothing without my prior approval."

"That is all, Carry on."

He barely escaped being brained by the cast iron skillet that was swung wildly from the hip, and aimed right for his coconut, by performing a textbook PLF and scrambling out of the burst radius of his not so adoring wife. He feinted, then parried, all the while searching for an escape route.

As she hunted him across the yard, she noticed a gaggle of hens, all bearing scissors and shears, had assembled on her sidewalk. "Let us have him, sister", the biggest and ugliest of them shouted, "we'll make a gelding out of him for you ".

She paused a moment, deep in thought, and asked "Will it make him behave?”

"Sure it will. A little snip and there's no more backtalk, no more peeing outside, and he'll bow to your every command", said the leader, a swarmy, bleary eyed ex-Kansan whose hatred of the male race had driven her to cut her greasy bangs to look exactly like the top of Jugheads' skullie. "Just give him to us, and we'll do a right fine job of it, yes'm, we will".

He saw his opening as the chickens haggled about the removal of his boys, and doing his best Earl Campbell imitation, hit a seam between the two smallest women of the circle jerk and was gone like a shot. There were two great fires that night. One was started when gasoline was poured on a pile of electric guitars, remote controls, issues of Sports illustrated and Playboy, and assorted power tools. The other was fueled by piles of makeup cases, toilet seats, and chick flick DVDs and Cosmo magazines.

The fire department was stretched thin that evening. There were two fires and a resident with her arse stuck in a window. The fires were extinguished, but not before all the gender-defining objects were a complete loss. The only remaining emergency was on Chalmers now, but the Chief was befuddled. "I have a handful of restraining orders that won't allow my men to enter the residence".

Edge once again felt the duty to respond, "I'll talk her out" he shouted as he headed for the door of the town home. After all he had watched 3 episodes of "Criminal Minds" once...well maybe it was 2 and a half, he turned one off early to catch a rerun of "the toxic avenger". He headed up the steps to the room with the side window, but only after checking her fridge for any decent brews. None were found. Noone could have prepared him for what he would find when he opened that bedroom door. The sailor found what he thought was a safe place to hide, but it was only for a short time. Having been stripped down to his not so white undies he realized that the bushes he had been hiding in were infested with itch mites. The scratching was unbearable and he was forced to run again.

The women had spread out and surrounded the area. They knew they had him.

"This won't take long girls!" the leader exclaimed upon examining the sailor.

A high pitched scream was heard in the village, and somewhere over in the “I” section a cat began to howl.

Having been tossed into the trunk of an electric car the sailor realized his beloved Chris Henry Bengals jersey had been replaced by a new shirt. "I love Stepford?" he read out loud. A tear escaped the corner of his eye as he was driven off to an unknown location. An empty bottle of chardonnay rolled across the trunk and thumped him in the crotch. The sailor began to weep. As Edge entered the bedroom where Wicked Witch of the West Side was firmly entrenched in yonder window break, the stench that hit him was overpowering.

"What in God's name is that odor?" he said. He didn't really expect an answer. But WWWS repliesd to him to his surprise. "I've been collecting all the crap from Greenhills for a very long time. It's been fermenting here waiting for the right moment to present it to council" she replied. "Well it smells like sewer backed up in here" said Edge. He wanted to open a window, but the only one was presently occupado. She was stuck real good. There was probably going to be some brain damage when this was all said and done.

A woman sat in her living room with a smile across her face. Her list of names had grown. She circled the name "Ikey" and sipped her wine. "What a fool!" she thought to herself. "Does he really think he knows who I am?" She was amused by the thought Ikey, with his split little head, thought he had figured it out all, but he was WAY OFF!! "He has made horrible remarks about a dear friend" she sighed. "I guess he has to be next." Grabbing her pen and putting a slash across his name she spoke out loud. "I am not who you think I am, and you will one day realize...I am many!"

The women had also heard the comments that Ikey had made and had started their plan as well. He was so wrong. He must be punished. But the evil one had slipped up. What she had actually snipped was merely a hologram; one that mirrored the image of the sea-going one that she had tried so hard to "de-manify". So the squidly one was still at large, with his "boys" intact, plotting his next move against the evil forces arrayed against him. He gazed out over the commons, and saw a matronly swarm of evil-doers holding aloft a hologram which looked just like a pair of golf balls, only flesh colored. "Heheheh", he snickered, "whupped 'em again". Slipped? Hardley. The women knew better than a fake. Afterall....they have been pro's at making the men think it was real for years.

Meanwhile, Ikey had broken out in a nervous rash. He knew his time was coming and he too would be cast under the spell of the women. He thought he had figured things out, and could take his information to the men, but the thought that she was many had really thrown him off. He had been wrong and the women knew it. "Who is she?" he cried out loud. "How could I have been so wrong”!

Ikey's head began to split a little further. Hedley from Hadley is what the evil one meant to say. The man with a plan. The one and only rooftop furniture delivery man in town; a man to be feared and admired. Not only was he ruthless, bright and suave, he was also known to occasionally dip into cross-dressing. No one could think of a better way to thwart this evil plan than to become one of the wrongdoers whose aim was to turn all the roosters into hens.

Meanwhile, back in the "C" section a certain volunteer had had quite enough of the mounting crap she had witnessed. Miss E. Day looked about at the commotion and quickly devised a solution - a beautiful solution that satisfied tensions on levels unseen, frankly. She grabbed up the bloke w/ the funny accent and gave him his orders. He knelt down before those saggy, pathetic buttocks stuck, stuck, stuck on stupid in yon window. Miss E, reared back and broke into a full sprint, planted her foot on the bloke's back, launching herself into the air, and landed a mighty kick square into that hideous, hysterical, hairy ass lodged in the window! While Miss E.'s foot momentarily was swallowed into the abyss, the ass succumbed, it was dislodged at last!

Now the putrid stench that exploded outward dropped the crowd to their knees, but the mission was accomplished, Miss E. had her revenge!

“She Who Shant Be Named” brushed herself off, immune to the death stench surrounding her, she returned to the window looked out on the carnage, and bellowed to the crowd;

"Get out of my yard, I'm just not interested"

"in what you are doing, I will have you arrested!"

"I'll call the EPA, the IRS, the FBI and then,"

"when I look like an ass, I'll get up and do it again!"

She backed from the window and laid down on the bed

and wished all those people would be found somewhere dead

It was then that she noticed over by the door,

stood Edge, a man she had it in for

They had met once before, and she had expected

to rock his world, but she was rejected

paralyzed with fear, Edge thought he was doomed,

No man had survived a trip to this room

But a thought crossed his mind as he stood by her bed

"she might not look bad, with a bag on her head"

"I've never tried it, so I'm not going to knock it"

and he pulled a brown bag that read "Kroger" from his back pocket

Edge won't admit just what happened that weekend.

with the sound of the screams and the bedsprings squeakin'

It took quite a brave man to carry out this scheme

to finally shut her up, he took one for the team

Meanwhile, Hedley had donned his favorite dress and had managed to infiltrate the group of angry ladies who had gathered at the commons to have a little party they had dubbed "nueterfest". Nobody bothered to ask him how he happened to be in possession of womens clothes in his size.

The women decided to start in the "A" section and work their way through the alphabet.

They were on their way to Andover when they encountered a strange woman in a big hat, pulling a wagon with a little doggie and cans of paint and brushes. She was pulling out all the flowers that the women of the village had planted this Spring. The women forgot why they were there and started yelling at the women. What do you think you are doing?? So she stopped at the Cat cause she heard such a ruckus and to her amazement there she thought man look at all these suckers!

So she went up to sing but the supaman said no, so she never got the chance to let her evil wind blow!

"One night with the Edge

and I'm less of a grump.

Oh, but to be less forlorn

and completely reformed

I'd have to hump

twice a night for a month!"

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Grandma was watching television on her brand new computer because she got the internet through her television. Sean Hannity was interviewing Bill Cunningham (radio to cable TV to computer) who was relating another hot rumor. "Sean, there's breaking news tonight involving the OJ Simpson trial. It seems that the "Juice" escaped custody late last night by juking his guards, stiff-arming a bailiff, and high-stepping past sheriffs’ deputies. Our most recent report takes us to a small, ordinary town in Ohio, where OJ has been spotted at a local bowling establishment. We go now live to our on the scene reporter, Biff Boff... Biff ?"... "Thanks Sean”.

OJ's relentless search for Nicole and Ron's killer has brought him to a bowling alley in the quaint little town of Greenhills Ohio. OJ claims he was shocked to see the banged up hood of a race car hanging on the wall, claiming that it was originally his piece of memorabilia and that it was fortunate he was here, gun in hand, to reclaim it. But before he could use his large, bloody knife to cut the car-hood down off the wall, he noticed that there was an opening in the schedule for what the locals here call "Open Mic night." The Juice, multi-talented and never shy, took to the stage. He was well prepared, and even had a video showing on the screen behind him (OJ's video linked here!)as he soothingly crooned The Toadies' love ballad, Possum Kingdom."

"Excuse me miss, you there, the one without the shirt, what did you think of OJ's performance?"

"Uh, it creeped me out. I haven't seen anything that disturbing since that Wolfgang guy tried to sing a Whitney Houston song." The men had all gathered (including OJ) at Haynay's. Edge walked in with a pronounced limp. It seems he had a woman attached to his ankle. "C'mon edge, just one more time. 97 is my lucky number!!" Edge kicked her to the curb. It was a place she was familiar with.

A new leader had emerged. He was a huge Bengals fan and had recently changed his name to Guisante Ocho Tres. Surely he would be able to lead the men out of this. But how ? It was time for a brain trust. The men bellied up to the spot where they did their best critical thinking - the bar.

"BARTENDER ! Libations, if you please. And not that watered down swill you feed to the bowlers, either. This calls for the Mac Daddy !" growled Ocho Tres.

A jug was produced from behind the bar, a hilljack piece of pottery with a cork stuck in the top which was marked "XXX". Ocho popped the cork and raised it to his lips, resting the jug in the crook of his arm as he took a manly plug. As he completed his pull and passed the jug to the next manly man in line, his hair stood straight up on end and his eyeballs rolled around in their sockets like a slot machine tumbler. "Aitch" he muttered, as his eyes slowly spun to a stop, "I yam what I yam, and that's all I yam, ark ark ark ark ark. But I've got an idea. Here's what we're gonna do. We're going to hit them right where they live. Anybody know where that happens to be?" Ocho slowly scrutinized each face, from one to the next, searching for a sign of brilliance, and if not that, at least some intelligence. He drew instead only blank stares and quizzical looks. It seemed like an hour, but was only seconds before the boldest of the assembled crew spoke. It was Cooch, who was at this particular moment drunker than a monkey and had his underwear on outside of his shorts; to ward off evil spirits and demons of the deep.

"Oprah ?" he queried, with the upward inflection of a school boy who knows that his answer is no more than an uneducated guess.

"No, no, not that old bag. The women don't watch her anymore since the power went out", answered Ocho, waving a dismissive hand at him. "Oh, I guess I have to do everything around here, jeez Louise. The correct answer would be… Ohhhhh." They all said in unison, smiling and grinning as if they'd just figured out how to set the clock on the VCR. "Tupperwear, of course!" There were a few moments of silence before Nutter asked the question that was bouncing around in each of their pointy little heads: "What's Tupperwear?"

Judster then piped up, "I don't know, but I hope it's kind of like what Ilona wears!"

"Now womens ain't too smart. As a matter of fact, the only time they sound smart is when they start a sentence with,....A Man once told me...." "We are going to take all of their Bon Bons and hide them inside the Tupperware. They can't open the Tupperware at all. That's why they ask us to open and close them things for them. Something to do with opposable thumbs. Without them there Bon Bons they are powerless." Said O.J." As a matter of fact, I know a food that diminishes a woman's sex drive by 90%. It's called wedding cake. But then you fellers already knew that didn't you?"

They all mumbled a big HELL YEAH and started off to gather up the Tupperware and Bon Bons. They made it as far as the 'Cat before the "thirsties" gained control of their collective brain, and in formation, they piled through the door and nestled up to the bar. "Bartender ! We want drink !" they exclaimed in unison, pounding their fists on the bar. The few patrons that had been in there began to slowly, carefully slink along the outside wall, away from the inebriated mob cavorting like madmen only 6 feet away, then breaking into a run as they neared the door.

It was at that precise moment that out from behind the pool table appeared a ghostly apparition, clad only in a "Have a Nice Day" tie-died T-shirt. It was none other than, THE NAKED COWBOY!!! Do you all like my new t shirt?? I was up all night making it to add more substance to my "Tighty Whities"!! Gonna make a bunch of them and put em on Craig's List. Will make millions!! "But guys, I really hate to cover up my beautiful body". One of the most outspoken guy there and the drunkest said, "Who let him in here?"

"Nobody let me in here. I am free to get where I desire. Do you not know who I am? I am without sin, I am the closest thing to perfection on this earth since Jesus walked among us. Every woman finds me desirable. Every man wants to be me" responded the cowboy.

"Every woman?" thought Ocho Tres. A plot was brewing. If this guy were to encounter this group of blood thirsty women, he might just satisfy their violent needs and put an end to the castration vacation they were taking throughout the village.

"Well Mr. Naked, I think there are some women right here in the village that haven't felt your magic yet. In fact we expect them up here in just a few minutes. One of them is actually a newspaper editor and would like nothing more than to give you some exclusive media coverage." Ocho told him.

The cowboy grabbed his guitar and headed for the door.

"Oh yeah, one other thing, tonight is there sewing club night, so they might be carrying scissors" Ocho Tres added.

The cowboy didn't make it as far as Ameristop before he stood face to face with the insane mob of women. Screams were heard from the Bearcat around to Pioneer automotive as the Cowboy wrangled his way through the insane mob of women. Hands were reaching here, there, and everywhere and one pair managed to grab ahold of the neck of his guitar. The Cowboy acted quickly as he sensed desperation, grabbed the guitar back and serenaded what used to be a dangerous group of beasts. Sounds of scissors hitting the ground one by one echoed around the shopping center. The women laying back on the concrete where the benches used to be pulled out their half packs of camels and lit up in satisfaction of what just happened. Knowing that he did his job, the Cowboy tipped his 10 gallon hat, turned towards Rileys and when the cowboy woke up on the floor of apartment number 427 he notice a Dazed-n-Confused man(he thinks) on the floor wearing Marge Simpson wig, a pair of Capri paints around his ankles and purple lipstick smeared all over his face. The cowboy also noticed a strange itchy feeling all over and realized it was all a dream.

Oh the shame of it all what really happened? And who is the guy in the corner with a straight jacket rambling put it back! It’s mine! Put it back!

He tried to sneak out unnoticed but then the deputy undersecretary tempter assigned to Greenhills was having a bad day. Sitting in the den of his firey cave somewhere below the West Chester/Hell border, he just couldn't bring himself to face the commute across I-275 to go into GH and work today.

"I know those bastards in the Satanic Department of Highway Confusion and Road Rage think they're doing the work of Our Master Below, but this is ridiculous." he mumbled.

The real reason for his dysthymia glowed up at him from the laptop on his desk.

"I work my tail off in that town" he said, twitching the barbed appendage behind him, "and do they appreciate it? Do they think of me? Do I even get a mention in their stupid book?" He turned to look at Mike Brown who had been chained to his wall since the re-signing of Chris Henry, "Well, DO I!" He walked over and kicked Mike in the nuts, hoping it would make him feel better, but it didn't. Not very much, anyway.

No, nothing would console the sad little devil today. He swapped out the Carole King album for some Joni Mitchell, and returned to his lounge chair and Irish Coffee while a single, sulphuric acid tear traced a path slowly down his face.

“Blatant self-promotion is always crude and crass

especially when it comes from a no talent ass

the real story of what happened at the Cat

is that the girls snipped his nads and then crapped in his hat”

"Tupperware!", the women scoffed dismissively. "We've had that fresh seal thingy down pat for ages."

The mob at the 'Cat were totally stunned to realize how wrong they were so did what was called for....another round.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Ocho Tres noticed something odd about the scissors that the women were flashing around menacingly. Something about the blades wasn't right. Were they....pinked, scalloped? And why were they carrying in their matching cases, variously colored and designed paper?

Could it be that GlowButt is attempting to smear this yarn with a decidedly feminine slant, but because she's typing up north in a barn her input we have to recant?

"Origami?" screamed the local, usually subdued wrench-monkey/nuclear physicist/guitar hero. "Oh no, anything but that!"

"What's the big deal?" wondered Nutter, "Who cares if a woman has an Origami or not?"

Some of the fellers stared blankly, others laughed so hard they spit beer out their noses. Nutter just smiled in that sly, marlboroughly way of his.

“Don't you see?”, asked BeerBill (who never paid his.) "They're going to create historically accurate folded paper representations of every building in the Village, then set them on fire! It's a mix of oriental art and Voodoo! This is bad, very, very bad. Why, taken to extremes it could lead to it could lead to Moore Teardowns!"

But then, miraculously, for the first time since Hector was a pup, the men and the women, the Republicans and the Democrats, the baseball people and the soccer aliens, the Hysterical Society and the... uh... normal people, the dogs and the cats, and the Pioneers and the Chargers came together, spoke with one voice, unified and in solidarity and said...


Look, this may be fiction but it isn't science fiction fantasy, okay? Were you really expecting those groups speaking with one voice? C'mon, ain't gonna happen.

We now return to our regularly scheduled novel.

…"bartender. more beer please"

(just buying time till a real inspiration comes along)

The very real ugly possibility raised its head....could they have been invaded by West Chester body snatchers and turned into a Stepford community?

The terrifying possibility seemed to have happened. A couple of the guys sipping libations for inspiration were in the can at the time of the invasion so were spared. Either that or the invaders decided that they weren't worth controlling, but I digress....Sitting down with a fresh brew in front of them, they realized the gravity of the situation (well, it took them a couple more beers) and tried desperately to think up a solution.

And it came to them....those funny shaped shears, a Tupperware fresh seal square container and a stretched out, from being tied in a knot under the "girls" too many times, tie-dyed t-shirt would do the trick. Amazingly all they needed to do was get in touch with that one chick, Calypso.

So, Mercury, guide and guardian, slayer of Argus, did as he was told. Forthwith he bound on his glittering golden sandals with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea. He took the wand with which he seals men's eyes in sleep or wakes them just as he pleases, and flew holding it in his hand over Pieria; then he swooped down through the firmament till he reached the level of the sea, whose waves he skimmed like a cormorant that flies fishing every hole and corner of the ocean, and drenching its thick plumage in the spray. He flew and flew over many a weary wave, but when at last he got to the island which was his journey's end, he left the sea and went on by land till he came to the cave where the nymph Calypso lived.

And then, It’s about time Nutter got that Town Meeting!!!

And they all lived happily ever after!

So the boys asked themselves "What is it that would make Nutt "happily ever after" ?

"Gin 'n Tonic with a Southern Comfort chaser?" asked Golfbong, who was still squeezing his knees together, having forgotten to take a whiz at both the Lanes and the 'Cat. " That dude really loves his booze."

"Nah, we've got to do better than that for old Nutt, after all, he is our very favorite wood-buthcherin' crooner." said Jud as he reached back to readjust his Spongebob shorts, as they were invading his plumbers crevice." How about some Skoal? "

Ocho Tres saw that this was taking a wayward turn, and endeavored to nip it in the bud. "What we need is the one thing that will make Nutt happier that he's ever been. The only thing that will do the trick is a night of unbridled passion with Barry Manilow. Nutter had always loved Barry's music and finally he had gotten the restraining order lifted and was able to resume camping outside the gate of Barry's mansion. And it paid off. As Barry came out one morning to walk his poodles, Nutter pounced on him and told him about Greenhills' open mic night.

"C'mon Mr. Manilow, it'll be fun. We could sing together, a nice duet of "Mandy". We can call our mini concert An Evening of Nutts and Barrys. The environmental wacko health food munching demographic will love it! The only other thing we need to round out the act and make this musical town meeting really jump is, pkm, on the drums! Whaddaya say, Mr Manilow, sir"?

Barry removed his finger from the trigger of the .357 magnum he had in his pocket. "Nutt, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times; I am not into inviting Cher to perform with Nutter & Barry!”

And the little village screamed for joy!

Meanwhile, Mercury was left cooling his jets, literally. The cool air streaming from Calypso's cave (criminey why doesn't she just spring for some heat fer cryin' out loud) was causing serious shrinkage and he was worried that the boys wouldn't bounce back in their usual eager fashion.

Upon arrival at the aforementioned hottie's cold cave, he discovered that.... Anyways back to the Ponderosa!

It was a beautiful sunny day and everyone in the village was happy!

But then out of nowhere the wind it started howling, the trees they were a bending, the leaves they were a falling, and it looked like the end of the little village until the Messiah himself floated down from the heavens, a hammer in one hand and a sickle in the other, dressed in his best " Mombasa man - Sunday go to the meetin' " clothes. He hovered for a second, just above the grass, and with a wave of his hand, commanded the winds to cease.

The sudden quiet thrust upon them, in the midst of hurricane-force winds, frightened the small, ordinary villagers. They knelt on the ground, some covering their eyes, as the annointed one deftly touched down. As he did so, he made a sort of convoluted gang sign towards the gazebo, and a heavenly band of musicians, fronted by none other than Nutt himself, broke into song. It was Fleetwood Mac's "World Turnin' ".

Luneytoon, NOOS and PPM prostrated themselves on the ground, extended arms aimed directly at their saviour, bowing up and down while chanting "We're not worthy... we're not worthy". They were clearly in a trance, possibly induced by the copius amounts of adult beverages they had consumed, but truly disturbing, none the less. " Thank you for delivering us from evil, oh son of the father" they wailed in unison. " But, why have you come here, to our small, ordinary town" ?

The air seemed to split and crack as the jug-eared one spoke. "I am here to help you with your "wimmen" problem" said he, in a baritone three octaves below Barry White. "I have brought the solution which you have sought for so long. But, before you get it, you have to perform a task. Bring me the voter registration card of one known as "Phred Phlinstone!"

The men were befuddled. There were already 666,000 new voter registrations in Ohio, many of which were stored in the trunk of Jennifer Brunner's Prius. How could they obtain the registration card of a mis-spelled cartoon character?

Then Wolfie's eyes lit up. "I've got it!" he blurted. "We don't need to question the Secretary of State, we can go right to the source because we Know Who Phred Is!"

"We do?" Asked Nutter.

"Of course! Think about it: Buffoonish, kind of funny but often grouchy, in spite of a bit of a mean streak he's generally loveable & kind hearted, always getting himself and others in trouble, and a body in the shape of a block of wood topped off by a disproportionately large head! He's a local! Phred Phlinstone is really reluctant to show his big face in public, so we're going to have to flush him out of his lair. And we all know that the only way to do that is with a case or two of World Class beer.", Wofie continued, as he fondled his 1/12 scale Justin Timberlake doll, which was anatomically correct. "If we can procure enough of a suitable beverage, and fake a BeerKlub at Jud's, we just might be able to scare him up. I'll be the HMIC of this operation, so all of you get in a line, right here, according to height".

The men started to comply, shuffling their feet and grumbling, when Nuter spoke up. "Wait a minute! Who made you the big boss of everyone? I'm a better singer than you, not to mention much better looking, so I should be the boss! "

Nuter and Wolfie squared off, nose to nose, leaning in and growling, as their matching dolls did the same." Yeah, but you can't play guitar like me so shut up and get in line", said Wolfie, Before I have to open up a can on you".

Nuter had had enough at this point, so he reached into his back pocket and produced two world class white owls, and handed one to Wolfie. As they were yukking it up, comparing dolls, they thought they kept hearing someone hollering for help. Seeing Judster across the parking lot, they just assumed it was him, as his glass was empty. But alas, it was not to be. Finally, as a small crowd was gathering, the cries got louder. As they all looked up, they saw Jeffie stuck up in the tallest tree, holding a two by four and a circular saw. "Hold on we're on our way" they shouted. About that time, a big silver HEMI rolled in, followed by a bigger bicycle. They all walked across the parking lot, back into the lanes to grab some brain juice and discuss getting Jeffie out of the tree, which seemed it was going to be a monumental task. The doors opened and out spilled three of the drunkest broads these brave men had ever laid eyes on. The first, a somewhat dirty blonde, spied the group of men whose jaws were at about belly-button level, and hissed to her evil compatriots, "Knock it off, ladies, our search is over". As she pulled out a golden pocket watch. As the men started laughing, the women just cackled. Back and forth, back and forth it swung. One by one the men stopped laughing. First Nutter, then Wolfie, Baby HUEey, Jud, BB, Cooch and Phroman, started getting sleepy. "Get in there now"--the dirty blonde says. Her girlfriends, laughing horribly, were holding the doors open. That’s when it hit us---the God awful sound of Saturday Night Fever playing at full blast. "Get up there with him" she shouted. There he was in all his glory. Sweat just pouring out of his body. Dancing on the red carpet performing the best disco moves since the John Travolta. With glazed eyes we looked at one of our true leaders. How can this be we asked. There was PT candy apple red- 83 dancing away. One by one we started shuffling to the stage. The dirty Blonde starts giving us orders to pull P-83 from the stage but with no luck as the ladies where too far gone. The moves ole P was putting on was unlike anything this little village had ever seen.

We all just set there in a slumber wondering what in the world has happened?

What has become of our ole P-83 and just what witchery these village ladies had in store for him!

And then out of nowhere Phroman pulled out his electric clippers and then shaved the heads of the whole lot of them.

Joe the plumber look for all of you he said.

You just can’t have enough sexy lookin’ domes ya know.

Just then a mere flash of a human being zipped past the hushed crowd of cowed onlookers. It was Nuter, and as a proverbial human cannonball, he flew up the steps and coco-butted the P-man right over the ball return and off the stage. Nuter turned around to the astonished audience, raised his arms over his head in a Nixon-esque victory salute, and screamed "Gunga la gunga, WHO-DEY !".

The people were stunned, aghast, even, by this sudden display of testosterone-fueled violence. They all began to shrink away from the sight of their beloved, congenial, best-buddy uncle-type gone awry in their midst. All but one.

It was Cooch. Always a man for the main chance, and one who feared nothing, except FOD, he hitched up his jeans shorts, adjusted his knee-high white socks, and strode forcefully to the stage. " Nuter, you'n me been buddies a long time, but I'm only gonna say this once. PUT DOWN THAT MICROPHONE!" he barked.

Nuter stared at Cooch, his eyes glowing red, stomped his foot three times while flailing his arms wildly about his head, and croaked, "Are you my new guitar player ?"

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It was at that precise moment that a dazed Ocho Tres shook his head and gained focus on the situation. He looked down and couldn't remember why he had been dancing about in nothing but the loin cloth that was presently hanging loosely about his waist but he now had but one goal.......the microphone! With all attention focused on the Cooch and Nut show, Ocho pounced and siezed the mic. The entire crowd turned in horror at the prospect of what was about to occur. Several children screamed and ran for the door! Ilona, tore off her "Death Cab for Cutie" shirt and wrapped it around her ears, "the Girls" were loose again! Cooch and Nut reacted quickly however and jumped on Ocho. A scrum ensued as they tried to wrestle the mic away, but Ocho had eaten one mild chicken wing and was now completely drenched in sweat. He slipped free, loincloth still intact thankfully, and sprang upon the bar. The next few moments went by as if in slow motion. He set up in his best Elvis stance, one arm extended out in front, brought the mic to his mouth and............. (somewhere down below, Lucifer slapped his leftenant on the back and said "This one's gonna get you that promotion, son!") it began.

"We're caught in a trap. I can't walk out. Because I love you too much baby.

An' why's the Christmas Tree. Up on October 3? When Santa's still on his vacation?

We caint cover our windows, with venetian blinds. We cain't crawl under the covers, with lemon riiiiinds...."

Shocked, dismayed, worst fears realized, they all just stared in mute horror. No one wanted to look, but they were inexplicably compelled to watch -- as if driving by a bad car accident or finding a 2 a.m. replay of Roadhouse on TBS. Yes, it was really happening. He was swirling about in a perfect storm of drunkenness, stupidity and a tarzan costume. No one thought the night could get any worse. They were wrong.... Inexplicably...without warning...Ocho froze. In mid song, one leg still raised and one arm still extended and his mouth still open..Ocho had suddenly become motionless. His eyes still red and bulging from the high note had had been screeching out, microphone still held up in a strange, Jaggeresque position...he was not moving a muscle. Some say even his lion cloth was suspended in mid-air. It was as if everything about him had froze in time and space.

The room went silent. Some low mumbling was heard..."what was that!"..."what the hell!". Ocho had simply ceased to display the slightest hint of motion. Fear and mystery filled the room. No one knew what to do or say. What they were witnessing was against all laws of physics and nature yet there it was. The only good thing was that Ocho was no longer singing he was frozen stiff. Jud reacted swiftly, placing his thumb over the opening of his expensive imported beer bottle, and after giving it a few good shakes, sprayed his mentor from head to toe. Up and down, front and back he doused him, and slowly, Ocho came back to life. His right knee was the first appendage to move, swaying horzontally back and forth. Then the hips started - the women swooned as Ochos' junk appeared, just for a split second.

As his whole body came alive, he began to sing again," On a cold and gray Chicago morn, a poor little baby chile is born.....in the Ghetto". OH ELVIS, screamed the swooming group of women, whoma have now settled down!! "Shake those hips baby"--More Elvis, more, more!! That'’s when the drunken men decided to go buy an Elvis suit and be just like the King. When you are the King, you get King sized benefits. You also ask for King sized value meals for the small size price.

Suddenly the gyrating Ocho noticed the clock on the wall. Not realizing it was on "bar time," he cried out "Holy crap! I'm late for my soccer game!" With that he lept to the floor and ran for the door. A shirtless Ilona grabbed at him and snagged his loincloth. It unraveled as he ran, revealing....


And the end that was revealed was nothing pretty that's for sure. But what was most shocking were the dual tattoos: peace sign on one cheek and the french flag on the other.

"I knew it!" hollered Hedley, "he's nothing but a liberal frenchy cheez eatin surrender monkey!"

Not knowing exactly what to think of this latest revelation, they decided to put the matter on hold and move on to more pressing issues, namely why did Illona have "Leave it to Beaver" tattooed on her left baby toe???? How in the heck did that happen?????? Then it hit them all-----JEFFIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!We forgot about him!!!!!!! They ran back outside to the noise of a circular saw. "It's about time you people showed up" he yelled. I was hollering help for someone to plug my extension cord back in..................Why, he wasn't stuck at all. He was busy building a sound stage in the highest pine tree there was. Jud and Nutster (slightly slurring their speech) “Watcha gonna do wit dat? Well, I'm gonna frame up this deck here, if you would put the booze down for a second and hand me that speed square you're standin' on. I've been having a helluva time tryin' to hang these joists up here...you think one of you heroes could climb up here and hold the other end for me?"

With that, Cooch kicked off his Gucci pumps and commenced to huggin' that tree like a grizzly bear, speed square in his back pocket, and shiny inchworm-like, up the tree. "Where you want me, boss?" He huffed as he climbed. He was almost to the top when one of the assembled crew decided to be a wiseass, and shot poor Cooch in the beautocks with a Red Ryder triple action BB gun, which had a compass in the stock. "Eeeeeyyooowwww!" screeched Cooch, losing his grip on the tree and falling face first towards the ground. Fortunately for him, there was a closed-sided trampoline that the kids had set up right underneath the pine tree, and he hit it dead center and bounced right back up, landing squarely on the branch where the J-man, aghast, awaited.

Cooch looked back down at the ground, one hand gently rubbing the offended area, the other clinging to a branch above. "All right, whooooo done it?" he snarled, "Who plugged me in the keister?"

'It was I, sir ", said Little Cooch, who had quietly been watching this debacle unfold. "When you bought me this BB rifle, you told me to only use it during extreme emergencies, well, I have been watching all of you through this whole episode and I can't remember a time where I have witnessed more extreme stupidity." (He had forgotten about the "shocking" time Cooch Sr. installed a microwave in the shower in an effort to save time)

"he's right!" replied Jud. "It's the same thing every time. We start out on a mission, get side-tracked at the bar, and change all our plans"

"I agree" said Ocho Tres, "Maybe I should go home and spend a wonderful evening with my loving, understanding young beautiful bride"

"In fact, I think my wife's birthday is coming up here soon" said Cooch, unaware the day had just passed.

It seemed the men had a moment of clarity that would alter the course of the evening when they all got together and started whispering together like a football huddle. They broke the huddle together and in unison said, "Naaaaahhhh."

"Send me up some 2 X 4's "

"Where's the nails?"

"More beer for my horses, and I'll have one too!!"

Construction had resumed on the soundstage that would eventually play host to the biggest concert event in the history of the village a show so big, so colossal, it was bound to make the cover of every magazine and newspaper in the country.

"This concert is gonna make Woodstock seem like it was a Stacey family picnic -we've got bands coming in from as far away as Northbrook," boasted Jeffie, " I think I'm going to call it - Nutt n' Barry - Palooza ! Whaddaya think?"

"Nah, that's no good," said Golfbong, as he was checking his doll for wounds after the standoff with Nuter, "we should call it Pionutt-fest !"

"That's the lamest thing I've ever heard - Pionuttfest - we need a name with some zing !" said Jud, following up his statement with a perfectly executed farmer's-blow. "How about Skool-Aid" ?

"Kool-Aid? I want some, I want some, gimme gimme gimme," piped NOOS, jumping up and down with his hands clasped together under his chin.

Ocho looked down and toed the dirt with with his Chuck Taylor sneaker, shaking his head in disgust. As he looked up, out of the corner of his eye, he saw...

We interrupt this story for a commercial break

Taste Great with COKain. Ask obama.

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a strange man skipping merrily along, dressed in a pink tutu emblazoned with flowers and peace signs, a "Black Helicopter Conspiracy" book in one hand, and a copy of Oliver Stones' "JFK" tucked under his arm. Ocho knew who it was immediately, though he was certain that they had never met. That was about to change, as the spooky dude was headed straight for him.

"Hey, hey, you guys have a permit for this job ? " squeaked Boozybuddy, as he slud to a stop and peered up under Ocho's scarlet and gray OSU hat. "You need a permit for a job like this. Has the mayor been informed? How about the charmer from Chalmers? Is she aware of this operation? And just what connection does this have to the CIA, FBI, ATF, or NIS, hmmm?" continued BB, as he stood on tippytoes, attempting to gain a few inches of height, so as to look Ocho in the eye.

Ocho did his level best to avoid the unrelenting gaze of this interloper, but his eyes were drawn back to the spectacle before him. "NOYDB, BB, now scram," he drawled, "we got work to do here, and we don't need any characters to give the job flavor."

BB recoiled from what he perceived as an attack on his personal freedoms. "You can't treat me this way. I've got rights, you know. Just because you're bigger than me, that's no reason to invade my space! I'm telling Pat Buchanan!" he cried, as he ran away, sobbing.

While the manly types were preoccupied with snickering into their fists and jabbing elbows into each others’ ribs, Illona saw her chance. She ran as fast as she could, leapt in the air, and landed on OJ with both feet. "All you men are slime" she screamed as she continued to dig her stiletto heels into his private areas. "Give this to that Bono guy if you see him, will ya"

none of the men responded in OJ's defense. He had already paid for his round. They were also aware of his past indiscretions, so unforgivable they wouldn't even speak of it.....yes, OJ drank Stroh's- with a straw!

Meanwhile, Hedley, still dressed in drag on his undercover mission, had infiltrated the leadership of the women's movement and had to report back to Ocho Tres exactly what evil plans had been made, just then, the vibrations started. The rumbling grew louder and louder. What in the he!! is going on? The beverage cups were spilling over--liquid oozing everywhere. Nutter starts screaming-"my Windsor, my Windsor!!!!!!!!" Phred's on the ground, Bounty, the quicker picker upper, in hand. Then they saw it. The water in the pool starts frothing over. Higher and higher it raised. Ocho and Hedley huddled together in the corner--"THIS IS IT---THIS IS IT" they hollered in perfect unison. "What the heck is THAT?" Judster wants to know. Is that a periscope? Someone asks. They all stood in awe as the shadow grew larger and larger. You could barely make out the lettering. USS DARKEYE it says. The hatch pops open and out jumps BabyDHuey--WOOOOOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! Y'all have any idear how long it took me to get this here?????? This baby here is our secret weapon Boys.....How in the world do you eedjits intend to get all the equipment, never mind the musicians, up that dang tree ?" scoffed Huey, eyeing the half-built sound stage. "Oh well, never mind that, lookee see what tug along with me."

With that, he spun open a watertight hatch, and out they came, one after the other, women dressed in the finest seagoing attire that Uncle Sams' money could buy, all armed to the teeth - SAW's at port arms, with bandoliers of ammo across their chests. The leader, a tall blonde with a decidedly military bearing, barked a few orders, and the women spread out in a semicircle, flat on the ground with their weapons trained on the motley crew of testicular technicians, who were straw-bossing the men as they worked. The blonde raised a bullhorn to her lips and pronounced, "Your evil plan has failed, ladies. Drop your attitudes and lay face down with your hands above your head. One false move and my wildcats and I will open fire. DO IT, NOW!"

The village chickadees, seeing that the gig was up, complied meekly. All except one and then the Naked Cowboy was going to play the 4th of July Concert that was scheduled not to conflict with the 4th of July, but the crazy lady was, like, running for mayor again after getting 12 votes last time, and she like said he was deviant, and like, the whole world started covering the story, and folks were talking about Greenhills Wears Its Underwear on the Outside Day, and then....

Nah. Too fantastic. No one would believe it. The lights went dim and N C hit the stage, looking out into the crowd he then noticed that everybody was wearing blue jocky brand undies......???

W T F !!!! N C then woke up in cold sweatIt was just a dream. Thank God!

Suddenly he looked next to him and saw a little dog with a bandana on smoking a cigarette. "I'll never drink again", he said, as he brushed a few hayseeds from that Mayberry-wannabe town from his dishwater brown locks. "First her, and now, her dog!" But, as the haze of whatever end up in the bloodstream started to fade NC realized that was no her! It all became clear as he saw the red and brown stained tightie whities what happened and all he could do was feel sorry for that poor dog. so he wrote this song

(Explicit lyrics warning!) And everyone wondered why busybody had to be such an inappropriate jerk! C'mon, man!

Just then his lovely wife woke him up. She could see through the covers that He was in an "excited" state.

"Did you have that drinks are on me dream again?" she asked.

"Yes and you woke me up just as P-Ocho Tres was getting ready to buy me one. I will probally never see that day." Just then a knock was heard on the front door. Who could it be? He had never been awake this early before, it was 10:15AM. He opened the door only to find a dog sitting in a red wagon with...gasp!....a pair of tidy whities perched on its head......

That could only mean the little doggie had decided that changing sides was a better choice than taking his own life to get away from the blithering idiot that had snatched him from the pound on that wintry winter Wednesday in Wyoming. Maybe, just maybe, this person would be less inclined to muckrake all the time, like his previous owner was prone to do.

He put on his best lovable puppy face, batted his brown eyes, and said "Boxers or Briefs?” Which was an odd question because clearly the answer was "neither".

So, of course Jed took the poor, sad, tormented little dog in and immediately shaved it bare, save for a large XU on its back. The dog was quite uncomfortable with the whole experience, raising its head and baying like a wolf - long, soulful cries, to which Jed paid little, if any, heed. The little pooch struggled to release himself from Jed's brand-spankin' new 12 inch Craftsman machinists' vise, but to no avail.

“I sure hope this guy isn't a Jeffrey Dahmer type", the mutt thought to himself as he howled in displeasure. Just then, the door to Jed's secret basement hideaway opened and in came Woody.

Seeing Woody at that most inappropriate moment, the obvious question became,

What Would Jed Do.....

Why post another Chuck Norris photo, of course.

...from behind his stack of Penthouse collectibles, jumped his loryer...

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Two Chucks, a skinned mutt and a Woody. This was getting more than Jed could take, so he took that moment to freshen up the paint job on his toenails, which were alternately blue then white, with a letter on each to spell out "M U S K I E ". Jed has six toes on each foot, you see. The ladies just love it. They say it adds to his primal presence.

Just then, Woody spoke, "Jed how come you have three nipples? The one on your back keeps looking at me when I'm checking to see if you have your wallet....stupid me. By the way, that dog and I have matching tattoos, it's Ying and I'm..... Why that dog is being eaten by a cat! Do something, don't just stand there. Call The Shadow! That floor is an historical treasure and must be preserved!"

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Jed saw what he'd been dreaming about all his life - the barkeep at the Cat had left the premises to burn one in his car out back - leaving Jed free rein to sample all the wares for free... "OH MY GAH oh my gah oh my gah" he repeated breathlessly as he waddled through the front door, stumbling a bit as he finished the grueling 32 meter run. He threw himself over the bar, smashing half-finished glasses of stale Hudie Delites as he sailed towards his suddenly attainable dream of Mecca. His chubby hand snatched up the first bottle in line, and flipping it skyward, he began chugging voraciously.

"Aitch - HO-OOOOE", he sang out, trying in vain to catch the velvety liquid spilling down his chin with his forearm. About this time, Cooch had entered the fray, and found a bottle of Baileys', which he immediately upended down his burger chute. "We got it made in da shade, Jude". And they really did have it made this time, until: “Oh my Gah, Oh my Gah, Oh my Gah!” A masked man burst through the door clutching a stack of "Not For Sale" signs!

Jed waddled, fell, struggled, fell, struggled, was helped up, tightened the belt, waddled over to the man and....fell down. He struggled to his feet then went to join the bartender.....and fell and rolled about in fatness...just then, he said "My work here is through" and he turned and headed out the door.

"But, haven't you heard of these ridiculous charter amendments they are trying to put through?" he was asked.

He stopped short of the exit, turned and said, "Yes, Ma'am, I have, and that's why I've chosen this occasion to announce my candidacy for Mayor of this great town of ours. Someone has to save us from the chicanery of our own womenfolk, it would seem, and that someone would be me."

The crowd bellowed approval as they swept Jed up above their heads, and proceeded out the door. But, as they swarmed outside, they ran smack into none other than...

It was Pat in her pajamas,

her empty wagon was in tow.

Half the men ran out the back,

the other half just froze.

What little sanity she had was gone,

her eyes were red as the sun.

"where is Edge, we have to talk,

I'm with child and he is the one"

The deed has been done, but I am not the one I took care of her need, but sowed no seed. For, I was in my bean bag chair and smoked a big bag of weed.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Village, in the Green Belt adjacent to the Winton Woods Walking trail down the hill from the "B" Section of the Village, two middle aged maidens were walking on the trail when they heard some rustling of leaves to their right. The maidens froze in fear not knowing what danger was lurking in their midst.

Their fears were well founded: before their very eyes appeared a diminutive ugly man, all greenish and covered with leaves. Their first impression was that he was a Troll, but then they remembered the old legend about this man.

THEY HAD JUST ENCOUNTERED THE GREENHILLS LEPRECHAUN. Sadly this leprechaun did not carry a pot of gold. But, something much more sinister.

The maidens knew that their innocence was in danger. They were afflicted with great fear and also some anticipation, because they suspected that there were no gallant men in the village who would save them. Was their fear justified?


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This is a really good book.

I'm gonna have my kids read it.

Is there a sequel coming out soon?

Why am I here?

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