The Pumpkin Patch

I said, “Hey, honey, let’s go to the pumpkin patch and look at all the cool stuff.” I’d never been to a pumpkin patch, but I kept driving by this one on my way to and from work, so I had to check it out. It looked cool at night, and that’s why I suggested bringing the camera. Well, I have to say that if this place was typical of most pumpkin patches then I’m not sure I was missing anything. Sure they sold pumpkins, but the place was more like some sort of weird traveling carnival, with inflatable slides, a moon bounce, booth games and, of all things, a petting zoo. It amazed me just how bad an outdoor venue could smell.

At the pumpkin patch in the next town over, Jocelyn and I saw a petting zoo and a giant inflatable slide. We took a few pictures of stuff and I got to smell some things I’d only heard about in farm songs, but the most interesting thing was the magic cowboy. You heard me right; a magic cowboy with a big silver hat and a horse with wings. He sat near the back of the patch with a little table and a door in a frame. His sign read: WRANGLER BOTEEN, THE MAGIC COWBOY (see, I told ya).

I was fascinated and walked up to him. “What kind of magic do you do?” I asked. “One trick per customer and it’s your choice.” He said, still smiling. So I told him I’d return and walked away to think.

I asked Jocelyn what I should request, and she said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She was busy photographing corn and gourds. She’s an artist, you know.

After a few minutes I made my way back to the cowboy and said, “I want you to magically send me back in time so I can kill Hitler.” To which he replied, “Okay, that’ll be three tickets.” I handed them over and he told me to walk to his door and knock. I did as instructed and had to suppress a laugh as I thought about knocking on a door that sat in a frame in the middle of a roadside pumpkin patch. When I was through knocking, the cowboy said, “Okay, go on through.”

I found my self on the other side of the door facing a roustabout with a squash in his hand. He was wearing a Hitler mustache and spoke to me in Mexican-accented German. “You will die, schweinhund!” He said, and came towards me with the squash raised above his head. Instinctively I kicked him in the nuts and took the vegetable from him. Then the cowboy called me back through the door.

“Well, has your magical request been fulfilled?” Wrangler Boteen asked and then bowed to me. “Um, no.” I told him. “First of all, you’re not really selling ‘magic’ here; it’s more like wish-granting. And even then it’s not very convincing.”

He listened as I spoke and then sat down and began to weep. I hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings so I walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, at which time his horse whinnied, took a large dump and then its fake wings fell off.

Get out a buy your pumpkin!

An open letter to my buddy, Keith

Keith,

I drank Nyquil last night before bed. Jocelyn's sick, and I don't want to get sick, plus I haven't been sleeping with all the anxiety I've had lately, so Nyquil seemed like a good idea. Well, aside from sleeping 10 and 1/2 hours, I had this one dream, and I mean ONLY ONE DREAM that whole time. And I even got up to pee…twice! But when I came back to bed…SAME DREAM!!! So here it is:

You, Brian and I (along with a carload of some friends of yours I didn’t recognize) went to this new comedy club you'd been raving about. The reason you liked this club (unbeknownst to me) was that the style of comedy there was called "Karaoke Comedy" or "Comedy-oke" or some damned thing. I didn't know this until we got there and they called my name to come up on stage. Seems you put my name on the list without telling me. Needless to say, I was thrilled. But I went up on stage and did this lame act with a snake puppet (probably something Freudian about that) and a gigantic black hat. I got a few laughs, but was mostly humiliated, so after I got offstage, I walked around the parking lot pissed off while the rest of you comedy-oked your heads off. In the parking lot I found a lot of broken comedy props. It looked like Carrot Top's reject pile, so I played with the stuff until you all came out, red-eyed and holding your sides from laughing. We all piled into your car, which looked a lot like the vintage car from Burnout 2 (you know the black one with the big fins?). Anyway, it sat six of us comfortably, and off we went. As we drove along, one of your friends asked which way we were going to take home. And before you could answer, another said "The swamp road, the swamp road!" You asked the rest of us what we thought, and I asked, "What the hell is the swamp road?" To which, Brian replied, "Yeah, it should be dry enough to cross this time of year." And everybody cheered (except me). Fuckin' Brian. So you made a turn somewhere on the freeway, and before long we were on a military base of some sort. Turns out the "swamp road" was nothing more than a series of dirt trails and suspension bridges over big chunks of a swampy training area. We stopped at the first bridge because you didn't think it was wide enough to allow your big-ass car to make it. But then everyone in the car (except me) began chanting "Go for it, go for it, go for it…" and so you did. We made it across the first bridge with little difficulty, and up onto a nice patch of solid ground. That's when the light hit us. The whole area lit up like high noon, and helicopters hovered directly above us. Voices came over loud-speakers telling us to stop, and you did. I sat next to Brian in the back, and as you stopped the car we could hear some kind of knocking on the back and roof. I asked Brian what was happening, and he started to cry. Then a bunch of flashlights shone in the windows and we were all pulled out of the car. We were surrounded by men flashing badges from every federal agency I know, and soldiers with guns. The top of your car was marked in yellow with symbols that looked like something from the Roswell crash, and as my eyes adjusted, I could see a whole bunch of cars all over the area with people pulled out of them just like us. One of your friends said something about his dad being military, and that they should therefore let us go, so one of the soldiers shot him dead. Then, you and your other two friends were taken off by some men in dark suits. They took you, along with a bunch of people from other cars, into this concrete bunker type thing. Brian and I just stood there. All of a sudden the soldiers and government men began to leave, and the only people that remained were these hippie-types in multi-colored robes. They led all the rest of us to picnic tables near the bunker and fed us sliced tomatoes. Every once and a while, some of us would be taken into the bunker. Brian was in one of those groups, and I never saw him after that. Then the tomato-server guy came up to me, and I asked if I could have two slices. He let me, but looked at me real funny and said "Come with me." He led me off alone into the bunker where we walked down some stairs and into a small-ish room where a bunch of people sat and watched a flat screen TV. They were all in robes of various colors, and it quickly became clear to me that the colors were like karate belts; the darker your color (up to purple in this case) the higher your position in the cult. There you sat, Mr. Keith Elsner in your purple robe, smiling as the new inductees watched your cult leader "Dr. Jack" on the flat screen. In front of everyone I was told to strip naked. I guess this was meant to humiliate and dehumanize me, but instead, I did it gladly. Then I was handed a bar of soap and a pail of water, and told to wash myself. Specifically, I was told to, "Wash away humanity's stink." Which I also did willingly. This attitude angered the guy who'd brought me to the room, and as he handed me my inductee-white robe (terrycloth), he shoved me into the room. I took my seat next to a nice old woman who said she was Michael Caine's aunt, and had come into the "Auto Club" (as they all called it) through him. Then the picture on the flat screen changed from Dr. Jack to a picture of Mel Gibson made up to look like a tree in some movie, with the voice over of Dr. Jack stating that Mel was instrumental in getting the whole "Auto Club" thing started. I looked over at you, and you simply nodded to me as if to say, "Absolutely right." And that's when I forced myself to wake up and STAY up. I knew it…and I'm gonna get you.

How many times must I pay for dressing like Nick Fury and shooting you?

Mike...

What I was thinkin' today.

I like dreamin’, ‘cause dreaming can make you mine. I like dreamin’; closing my eyes and feelin’ fine. Well, not so much ‘fine’ as terrified and sick. You see, I come from a race of people who gave up their ability to dream long ago in exchange for the power to battle Vampires. We only have nightmares now, horrifying visions of blood and fire and the possibility of a new Police Academy sequel. But I needn’t tell you. Most likely you’re here because you can’t sleep either. Am I right? Are you prowling the Internet in the hope of finding something new and exciting? Good for you. Sleep is for punks and soft ice cream salesmen. Or is it sales-persons? I can’t keep up with the new lingo. I bathe regularly…and sometimes irregularly. But suffice to say I’m clean. When I go to the market or one of those large ‘everything’ stores, I spend long hours smelling the soaps and body washes. I need just the right scent if I’m going to head out into the night and fight Vampires. Thought I forgot about that part, didn’t you? I am strong like a Russian bear. Why Russian? Because American bears pride themselves on looks and not strength, and Canadian bears…well, don’t get me started on their lazy asses. Back to the lecture. Ham Tyler actually liked Mike Donovan; don’t think he didn’t. Sure he called Mike ‘Gooder’ to make fun of him, but when the fight was on, Ham was right there in the thick of it. Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it? I’m part Indian. No one in my family will tell me if that means Native American or from India, so I’m stuck with a lot more holidays than I think I need. Remember when breakfast cereal had real sugar in it? I miss those days. ‘Unctuous’; that’s the word I was trying to remember. Dang, I hate when I can’t recall a word. Now I’m gonna have to phone that guy back. See ya!