BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

THE PUF REPORT: Part 1 of 5

Some of you may have actually “friended up” with E K on Facebook. To you I say, “What in the hell were you thinking?!” I mean, after all, I warned you. I have cited examples, explained, warned, waved flags… But, did you listen? No. So, as far as I’m concerned you have no one to blame but yourselves. If you willingly walked into the web of the evil redhead, well… All I can say is, told ya’ so…

Anywho… Those of you who were silly enough to end up pinned to the wall like a butterfly in her personal collection have likely already seen this next bit of text. For those of you who were smart enough to not end up in her killing jar, firstly, good on ya! Secondly, here’s the text in question:

Now, as you can see, this was her status on May 27. The following morning we were set to leave for PUF (Pagan Unity Festival) in Burns, TN. This is an event where I have been presenting workshops and signing books every year since 2001. In fact, I have even been told that if I die prematurely, they will dig me up and bring me to Tennessee so that I will always be at PUF. It seems that much like the brewers of Guinness and the bit of real estate where the brewery is located, PUF also has a 999 year lease on me. Fortunately, I don’t mind. 🙂

But, back to our story… Also as noted in that status update there is a little winky face behind the bit about Johnathan getting pouty. Johnathan, by the way, is a very good friend of ours. We’ve known him almost forever… As in, ever since he was a snot nosed, skater punk kid. He’s grown up with a kid of his own now, so that should give you an idea on “forever”. He’s also a fantastic artist who is responsible for the covers of my books. Yeah… I am one of the fortunate few authors out there who is friends with his cover artist. Makes life a bit easier when it comes to collaborating on the vision for the artwork. However, the long and short of the deal is this – Johnathan always accompanies us to PUF. He has for several years now. In fact, he is even considered a part of the PUF Staff now.

And, so our story begins…

Friend or not, E K will not pass up a chance to torture a male member of the species, whether physically or psychologically. Usually it’s both, but since we were short on space in the van she didn’t pack any of her prized instruments of the inquisition. Of course, this didn’t preclude her from invoking her psychological ops.

And, it all began with a winky face.

Now, for you to properly understand the depth of this torture, there are some things of which you need to be aware. To start with, Nicky’s BBQ is in Clinton, KY, not terribly far from the small town of Fulton. It has been around somewhere near the edge of forever. They fix real, honest to goodness, BBQ pork shoulder. Now, when I say BBQ, I mean BBQ. Not some grilled meat with some sickly sweet sauce globbed all over it. I mean slow smoked pork shoulder that has cooked forever and a day over a low, wood fire. Then is pulled apart (hence the term pulled pork), maybe chopped a bit, and served with coleslaw, tater salad, beans, and a couple of slices of bread. If sauce is a necessity, one begins with a liberal dash of Tobasco or Louisiana Hot, followed by a few squirts of a good ‘ol vinegar and pepper based nectar. Of course, this is all served on a paper plate and eaten with a plastic fork.

To anyone from Kentucky, and other parts South, this is heaven on a plate.

As you know, I am originally from Kentucky. ‘Nuff said.

Now, while there are many, many BBQ places dotting the countryside, Nicky’s is one from my youth. As I said, it has been around since the edge of forever. I can remember it way back into my childhood. Of course, being one who likes to share, I introduced my family – and Johnathan – to this oasis of pulled pork on Highway 51.

But, back to E Kay’s evilness…

The reality of the matter is this: the route to Burns, Tennessee does not actually include Clinton, Kentucky. In fact, to go to Nicky’s takes us better than an hour out of our way. This usually isn’t a problem, however, due to the fact that I still have family in Fulton, and we make it a point to take the detour and visit for a bit. And, since we are usually heading down 51 right about lunchtime, Nicky’s is the preferred stop.

Not only that, Johnathan has pretty much come to anticipate it. Much like Pavlov’s dogs, as soon as the trip to PUF is mentioned, he begins to salivate and the first thing he says is, “Are we stopping at Nicky’s?”

E K, being Satan incarnate in a pair of stilettos, usually just smirks and says, “Maybe. What’s in it for me?”

When the actual day of departure draws closer, Johnathan begins babbling incoherently about “pulled pork” and “vinegar BBQ sauce”. His ramblings are overtly punctuated by the word, “Nicky’s” followed by a maniacal cackle. Truth be told, he sounds kind of like Beavis and Butthead on a mission to get BBQ.

E K, of course, continues to torture him with “Maybe’s” and “I dunno’s” right up until we cross the bridge into Kenucky, right there at Cairo, Illinois. You see, that’s pretty much a dead giveaway that we are aiming ourselves for Fulton with reckless abandon. Once we pass by the paper mill at Wickliffe, well then, it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that Nicky’s is on the menu.

This year, however, my kin had funeral to attend on the day we were passing through. Since timing was everything, we weren’t exactly sure if we would continue on through Fulton, or continuing on. E K, again being evil and all, couldn’t resist getting Johnathan under her heel and twisting it just a bit. At each T intersection she would announce that perhaps we should circumvent the backroads and hit the highway. She would even feign turns in the complete opposite direction of Fulton, all while watching poor Johnathan in the rear view mirror.

The poor bastard started with yelping, “Nicky’s?!” repeatedly, and before long was shaking uncontrollably and mumbling about pulled pork. With each intentional but aborted wrong turn, his anxiety grew and E Kay’s grin widened. By the time we were finally cruising down 51, Johnathan was on the floorboards in the back, curled into a ball and mumbling, “N-n-n-niiiiccckkkky’s… N-n-n-niiiiccckkkky’s…”

At the last minute, the evil redhead whipped the van into the small parking lot of the whitewashed block building, then kicked a blithering Johnathan out onto the pavement. Feeling sorry for him I helped him in the door and to the lunch counter where we placed our orders. Fearing the inherent cruelness of the redhead, Johnathan not only ordered the BBQ plate like usual, but also a pound of pulled pork to go – with extra sauce on the side.

Adding insult to injury, E K kept reaching over and swiping his plate before  his fork could touch it. She would cackle and grin, he would get all teary eyed and plead with her. When all was said and done and she allowed him to eat in relative peace, the poor guy shoveled it in so fast he ended up looking like a toddler who’d had spaghetti for the first time. Pork bits were stuck to his face with a swath of vinegar based BBQ sauce. Potato salad was in his hair, and coleslaw was all over his shirt. He was backed into a corner, clutching a plastic fork and watching E K like trapped prey watches the predator that is about to make it into dinner.

We finally coaxed him out, hosed him off, and managed to calm him down. It took some doing, but I finally got him to leave Nicky’s with the pound of pulled pork hugged tightly in his arms. In an attempt to reverse some of the damage, I offered to take a picture of him next to the Nicky’s sign.

I’m sure Johnathan has a copy of this framed and hanging on his wall. He might even have a smaller one in his wallet to take out and look at throughout the day as he anticipates next year’s excursion.

E K, on the other hand, is already plotting to tell him they moved and left no forwarding address.

More to come…

Murv

Next installment in THE PUF REPORT: Part 2 of 5 – Where’s Kat?

E K is evil. We all know that. Those of you who don’t have any first hand experience in that area will simply have to take my word for it. Trust me, it’s better that way. Save yourselves, escape while you can. Don’t even look back, there’s no hope for me at this point. Really. Just leave me and get out of here before she catches you.

Okay… Now that you are safe I can continue… Seeing as E K is pure, unadulterated evil, as well as a ruthless secret agent who makes Jack Bauer look like a pantywaist, (see: Kay… E Kay…), The Evil One is generally armed for bear whenever she leaves the house.

You know, all the standard lethal force, 007/CTU killing and torturing kind of stuff – stiletto heels with real stilettos, poison lipstick, exploding PDA, miniature rocket launching mascara, electrocuting cell phone, .40 caliber hairbrush, etc… Yeah, the whole nine yards.

Now, since her top secret cover is that of a soccer mom, she drives a heavily armored mini-van that has its own rocket launchers behind the headlights, ejection seats, special cubbyholes for hiding bodies, machine guns in the fender wells, and it can even drive underwater.

Still, my dear and lovely is a hands on kind of killer woman. Something about liking to be up close and personal with her victims before stomping the life out of them. Like I said, she’s evil…and cruel…extremely cruel. I mean, we don’t call her E K for nothing.

At any rate, since she likes the hands on approach, in her soccer mom mobile, she carries a miniature Louisville Slugger. Yeah, exactly… A small, wooden, novelty baseball bat. From what I gather, she uses it to render her victims unconscious before she tapes them to a chair and tortures them. (Yeah, she carries several rolls of duct tape too. Go figure.)

So… The other day we had occasion to do a bit of shopping – grocery shopping, in fact. After all, an active assassin woman like E K has to eat balanced, healthy meals and such, so that she can stay in top form. Well, after we climbed out of the armored urban assault vehicle disguised as a soccer mom mobile, and I was rolling the sliding door shut – I severely wrenched my shoulder from muscling all that armor sideways, btw – I happened to notice her pint sized noggin knocker laying on the floor next to the offspring’s rear seat. Now, I happened to know that this wasn’t the secret hiding place for this particular piece of weaponry, so I pointed at it and asked the munchkin, “What are you doing with that?”

To which she replied, “I think it’s cute.”

Hey, she’s nine. Right now, in her world, just about everything is “cute”, except for the boys at her school and asparagus.

“Well, that’s fine, but it belongs to Mommy,” I told her.

For whatever reason, that idea didn’t sit well with her. As we started across the parking lot, the short person turned to E K and said, “You don’t need a bat, Mommy.”

Since we are trying to keep E Kay’s secret agent status a secret from the offspring right now, but also trying not to make a habit of lying to her, I piped up and said, “Sure she does. She has it for emergencies.”

“Yes I do,” E K agreed, then decided to expand upon the comment with an explanation. Unfortunately, she must have been receiving an urgent encoded message on her microwave transmitter dental work at that same instant that effectively diverted her attention, because what ended up tumbling from her lips was, “I have it in case I need to beat someone off.”

Yeah… Trust me, we were both thinking exactly what you are thinking right now…

And, because I was thinking the same thing you are thinking, I couldn’t help but snicker. Really… I simply couldn’t help myself. And, I was safe from retribution for it because neither could E K. Had we been drinking at the time there would have been a mess to clean up, know what I mean?

Of course, our stifled laughs were definitely preceded by one of those  split second, heart stopping, “Oh shit, that definitely came out wrong” moments. I’m sure the dropped-jaw, wide-eyed, deer-in-headlights expressions we both wore in that instant were utterly priceless. Too bad we didn’t have a camera handy. Fortunately, the unintended euphemism went right over the offspring’s head – literally and figuratively.

I have no idea what Freud would have made of the comment, especially since E K was wearing blue jeans at the time and no slip was involved.  Still, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and a faux pas is just a faux pas. Still, as we entered the store I made the mistake of saying, “That’s definitely blog material.”

E K just sighed and said, “Why is everything blog material?”

“Because it’s funny,” I answered.

I didn’t catch all of her reply, mainly because she seemed to be mumbling to herself. Still, I’m pretty sure I heard something about needing to find a place to hide my body.

More to come…

Murv