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29th Jul 09
M. R. Sellars
I have to be honest. I’m rarely shocked by anything E K does, especially if it involves evil. However, please make note that I said rarely. There are occasions when the Evil Redhead will do something that throws me for a bit of a loop. Of course, since I am telling you this now it should be obvious that Her Majesty has recently managed to leave me wondering…
As is the custom whenever E K is about to do something I will inevitably blog about, I was standing in the kitchen minding my own business. Well, in truth I was minding the business of a pound of ground turkey as I set about fixing the evening meal. Now, what was unusual about this is that instead of pacing back and forth behind me while gently slapping a riding crop against the side of her leg, The Evil One was nowhere to be seen. This, in and of itself should have set off a few alarms for me, but I was too busy concentrating on what I was going to prepare with the ground turkey that I hadn’t already prepared at some point during the 2009 calendar year. (You see, E K doesn’t like to have the same thing twice within a 365 day period.)
Anyhow, there I was trying to come up with a unique dish that involved ground turkey when I heard a voice from across the room.
“Hello, Lackey,” E K announced, her tone both serious and bemused. (Don’t ask me how she managed that. It’s an E K thing.)
I looked up from the meal fixin’s and there, standing in the doorway, was the evil redhead, decked out in her own version of Indiana Jones adventure attire, complete with a fedora and bullwhip.
Of course, noticing the whip my first response was, “I’m sorry, your worship, I’m cooking as fast as I can.”
She ignored me, which wasn’t unusual except that she rarely misses an opportunity to enjoy a good bit of groveling on my part. Instead, she stared out the window into our back yard.
“Japanese Beetles,” she finally said , and then let out a heavy sigh that was obviously filled with deep seated trepidation. “Why did it have to be Japanese Beetles?”
I screwed up my face with confusion because I was… well… confused. “Japanese Beatles?” I repeated with a questioning tone. “Are they some kind of tribute band?”
“Popillia Japonica,” she replied. “Very dangerous.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Are they really loud or something?”
“Hungry.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Hungry?”
“Very.”
“I’ve only got a pound of turkey here so that might be a problem,” I told her.
“They’re vegetarians.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” I agreed with a nod. “McCartney is all about the veggie thing isn’t he…”
“There are Japanese Beetles in the back yard, Murv!” she barked.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Calm down. I can defrost some more turkey in the microwave. Not a big deal. Just go out there and stall them for a bit while I get to cooking. So, just out of curiosity are these guys any good? I mean, should we sell tickets or something?”
“Whiskey,” she replied, a demanding note in her voice.
“Yeah… Okay…” I returned with a shrug.
Since she was still holding the bullwhip I decided I had better comply. I pulled a bottle of the good stuff from the cabinet, poured a shot, then placed it on the island in front of her. She picked it up, tossed it back, then slammed the empty shot glass onto the counter upside down. From out of nowhere a Nepalese man dressed in Yak fur appeared, burped, then passed out and fell to the floor. E K proceeded to take all of his money then kicked him a couple of times to make him move out of her way, and of course “just because”… She’s evil like that.
“Get the pry bars in there,” she ordered, a wild look in her eyes.
“Do the what?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes then barked, “Open the damn back door, Lackey!”
I did as I was told, because that’s what I do. As I turned back to face her I noticed that she had unfurled the bullwhip and was now rearing her arm back over her head. I immediately cowered in the corner, fear running rampant through my veins. However, the sting of her lash never fell upon me. I peered out from behind my hands and watched on in complete awe.
With a speedy swish and a sharp crack the braided leather snaked out the open doorway, the end wrapping itself around a tree branch. E K pulled on the whip to cinch it tight, then grasped it with both hands, jumped up in the air, and swung through the open doorway and out into the back yard.
As she flew past me I heard her mutter, “You wanna talk to God, let’s go see Her together…”
I’m still not entirely sure what all that was about. She insists that we don’t talk about it. Ever.
All I know is that we never sold a single ticket, I never heard a single Beatles tune, and I’ve now spent the past three days using a paint scraper to get the scarab carcasses off the bottom of her shoes…
More to come…
Murv
