Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
***
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at the Royal Wedding Headquarters & Newspaper Resurrection Center, which provides three-day old newspapers for the waiting rooms of doctors and other professionals too poor to have current subscriptions, with a faux-silver pot of Earl Persimmon Tea on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, and nobody at RWH&MRC would be caught drinking commoner tea on the day of a royal wedding, although his wife Claire, and her friend, Kate Bates, and Kate’s husband, Prof. Ben “Seymour” Bottoms, and Kate’s granddaughter, three-year-old Clara Wembley, were wedged into the booth with him anyway, the place being packed like a mal, as they call a mall in England, when Lady Henrietta Fuzzybottom Ruralroute-One stood to announce the commencement of the Royal Wedding Invitation Name Game.
Lady Henrietta Fuzzybottom Ruralroute-One is normally Edith Whistle, but for the invitation card for the royal wedding it is necessary to have an aristocratic name, which is obtained by using the name of one of your grandparents, the name of your first pet, and the name of the place in which you grew up.
Claire was pleased to be Lady Lara Shep Monon-Tracks. Kate announced herself as Lady Hortense Blammer St. John-Swamp. Seymour declared himself Lord Yates Old Blue Delta-Silt. Randall reluctantly admitted he was Lord Marvin Pisser Seedtick.
Clara Wembley refused to play, not because she would not like to use the name of her nana, Kate, as her royal first name, or because she objected to a last name of Bloody Gulch, which she actually rather enjoys when she tells the new teachers at the Wind in the Diapers pre-school, but because she refused to have as any part of her identity the nefarious Shingles, the dog, who remains un-forgiven for stealing her blankie on Christmas eve of 2009.
Nonetheless, the game was going quite well until the door opened and a wild-eyed Irish-looking man stepped in.
“Oh, good grief,” muttered Lady Henrietta Fuzzybottom Ruralroute-One. “Who told Reggie Cide about this?”
***
A Golden Persimmon is awarded today to Bishop Woodie W. White for contributing his dog’s real name to be used as part of Randall Nathan’s royal wedding name, since the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much.
Dave Nash says that the links to my blogs and my email, which I post below, do not work. I apologize for any inconvenience. I have redone them, and so now I hope they work. If they don’t, you can type them in yourself as they are, because they are accurate, even if not workable.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://www.christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Friday, April 29, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Apostrophe Protection Society
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
***
Three-year-old Clara Wembley watched with trepidation as Polly Androus directed the big men to load retired funeral director Jake Newland and Prof. Ben “Seymour” Bottoms, the husband of her nana, Kate Bates, and The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, into the back of her truck. Clara could not read the words on the side of the truck, "Let Polly Androus Recycle Your Old Stuff," painted over the faded image of millionaire Morgan P. Moneybags, which bore a striking resemblance to The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), especially if you struck it from the left side.
She had already watched with trepidation as Jennie Newland posted a note on the side of the garage and went back into the house, and she knew that there would be problems when Jake came out of the house to look at the stuff Jennie had piled there beside the garage, and even more trouble when Prof. Bottoms and Dr. Nathan stopped to talk to him. No, she could not read the words on the side of the truck, but she knew what she had to do.
“Come on, trepidation,” she yelled to her imaginary friend. She jumped into her car and pedaled furiously down the sidewalk, yelling, “Beep, beep. Get out of the way people, if you don’t want me to give you the finger.” [1]
She pulled into the curving driveway of a trapezoidal house. Beside the door was a neatly lettered sign: Ella Cution, President, Periwinkle County Chapter of the Apostrophe Protection Society (PCCOT’PS). Clara went to the door with trepidation.
“You’ve got to come, Ms. Cution,” Clara said. “It’s an emergency.”
“I can see that, Clara,” said Ella Cution, “but since he is your friend, you really must capitalize Trepidation.”
“He’s a she,” said Clara.
“I stand by my Ruling,” said Ella Cution. “Perhaps Trepidation and Ruling can play together while we take care of this emergency.”
Just then Polly Andrus’s truck careered around the curve in the street.
“My goodness, such driving,” said Ella Cution. “I really think that truck should be looking for a new job if it is careering. Otherwise, it’s just careening. And that extra s on Androus simply makes an ass our of as.”
Nonetheless, she stepped out and waved down the truck and directed it back to Jake and Jenny Newland’s house, where she demanded that Polly Andrus redeposit Jake and Randall and Seymour. Then she went to the door of the house and knocked until Jenny emerged.
“Mrs. Newland, you really must be more careful when you leave a note,” she said, as she added an apostrophe to Jenny’s note, so that it then read: Take those old things beside the garage; they are my husband’s.
***
1] For an explanation of Clara’s giving of the finger, read Periwinkle Chronicles for March 22, 2011.
A Golden Persimmon is awarded today to Lynne Truss, because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much.
Dave Nash says that the links to my blogs and my email, which I post below, do not work. I apologize for any inconvenience. I have redone them, and so now I hope they work. If they don’t, you can type them in yourself as they are, because they are accurate, even if not workable.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://www.christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
***
Three-year-old Clara Wembley watched with trepidation as Polly Androus directed the big men to load retired funeral director Jake Newland and Prof. Ben “Seymour” Bottoms, the husband of her nana, Kate Bates, and The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, into the back of her truck. Clara could not read the words on the side of the truck, "Let Polly Androus Recycle Your Old Stuff," painted over the faded image of millionaire Morgan P. Moneybags, which bore a striking resemblance to The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), especially if you struck it from the left side.
She had already watched with trepidation as Jennie Newland posted a note on the side of the garage and went back into the house, and she knew that there would be problems when Jake came out of the house to look at the stuff Jennie had piled there beside the garage, and even more trouble when Prof. Bottoms and Dr. Nathan stopped to talk to him. No, she could not read the words on the side of the truck, but she knew what she had to do.
“Come on, trepidation,” she yelled to her imaginary friend. She jumped into her car and pedaled furiously down the sidewalk, yelling, “Beep, beep. Get out of the way people, if you don’t want me to give you the finger.” [1]
She pulled into the curving driveway of a trapezoidal house. Beside the door was a neatly lettered sign: Ella Cution, President, Periwinkle County Chapter of the Apostrophe Protection Society (PCCOT’PS). Clara went to the door with trepidation.
“You’ve got to come, Ms. Cution,” Clara said. “It’s an emergency.”
“I can see that, Clara,” said Ella Cution, “but since he is your friend, you really must capitalize Trepidation.”
“He’s a she,” said Clara.
“I stand by my Ruling,” said Ella Cution. “Perhaps Trepidation and Ruling can play together while we take care of this emergency.”
Just then Polly Andrus’s truck careered around the curve in the street.
“My goodness, such driving,” said Ella Cution. “I really think that truck should be looking for a new job if it is careering. Otherwise, it’s just careening. And that extra s on Androus simply makes an ass our of as.”
Nonetheless, she stepped out and waved down the truck and directed it back to Jake and Jenny Newland’s house, where she demanded that Polly Andrus redeposit Jake and Randall and Seymour. Then she went to the door of the house and knocked until Jenny emerged.
“Mrs. Newland, you really must be more careful when you leave a note,” she said, as she added an apostrophe to Jenny’s note, so that it then read: Take those old things beside the garage; they are my husband’s.
***
1] For an explanation of Clara’s giving of the finger, read Periwinkle Chronicles for March 22, 2011.
A Golden Persimmon is awarded today to Lynne Truss, because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much.
Dave Nash says that the links to my blogs and my email, which I post below, do not work. I apologize for any inconvenience. I have redone them, and so now I hope they work. If they don’t, you can type them in yourself as they are, because they are accurate, even if not workable.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://www.christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Monday, April 18, 2011
La Dame du Non Secours
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
***
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at La Dame du Non Secours Persimmon Espresso Bar
with a pig ringer and a box of rings on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Della Catessen brought him his usual Perspicacious Persimmon Placebo Platte’.
“Hey,” yelled Pastor Patty, who was in the next booth, trying to think up a different sermon for the coming Sunday, since most of the crowd heard only the resurrection part of the Gospel, because they came only on Easter, and didn’t know anything about sacrifice and forgiveness and eschewing money and the rest of what Jesus preached and died for, “how come you bring his drink out to him when the rest of us have to stand in line? That’s the whole point of the name of this place. You’re the dame of no help. He’s old, but he can still stand in line.”
“It’s a gift to Claire,” said Della Catessen. “As long as he’s in here, he’s not home. Also, as long as he’s drinking his platte’ he can’t be telling those corny jokes.”
“Oh, well that’s okay, then,” said Pastor Patty.
She turned to Randall.
“I assume you’re not coming to church this week?”
“Never on Easter,” he replied, “or Christmas. Too many people.”
“But you used to preach to big crowds all the time,” she protested.
“Yes, but I was up in the pulpit. That’s why I went into the ministry, so I didn’t have to sit with other people in church.”
“I guess you don’t have any ideas for a different way to get the Easter message across then…”
“I’ll tell you something Claire said to me when I was worrying about new ways to preach. ‘You have only one thing to do in that pulpit, and that’s to remind us that God loves us.’”
Pastor Patty turned and yelled to Della Catessen, “Hey, you can go back to being the dame of no help. I’ll bring him his platte’ from now on. I owe Claire, too.”
***
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much.
Dave Nash says that the links to my blogs and my email, which I post below, do not work. I apologize for any inconvenience. I have redone them, and so now I hope they work. If they don’t, you can type them in yourself as they are, because they are accurate, even if not workable.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://www.christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
***
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at La Dame du Non Secours Persimmon Espresso Bar
with a pig ringer and a box of rings on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Della Catessen brought him his usual Perspicacious Persimmon Placebo Platte’.
“Hey,” yelled Pastor Patty, who was in the next booth, trying to think up a different sermon for the coming Sunday, since most of the crowd heard only the resurrection part of the Gospel, because they came only on Easter, and didn’t know anything about sacrifice and forgiveness and eschewing money and the rest of what Jesus preached and died for, “how come you bring his drink out to him when the rest of us have to stand in line? That’s the whole point of the name of this place. You’re the dame of no help. He’s old, but he can still stand in line.”
“It’s a gift to Claire,” said Della Catessen. “As long as he’s in here, he’s not home. Also, as long as he’s drinking his platte’ he can’t be telling those corny jokes.”
“Oh, well that’s okay, then,” said Pastor Patty.
She turned to Randall.
“I assume you’re not coming to church this week?”
“Never on Easter,” he replied, “or Christmas. Too many people.”
“But you used to preach to big crowds all the time,” she protested.
“Yes, but I was up in the pulpit. That’s why I went into the ministry, so I didn’t have to sit with other people in church.”
“I guess you don’t have any ideas for a different way to get the Easter message across then…”
“I’ll tell you something Claire said to me when I was worrying about new ways to preach. ‘You have only one thing to do in that pulpit, and that’s to remind us that God loves us.’”
Pastor Patty turned and yelled to Della Catessen, “Hey, you can go back to being the dame of no help. I’ll bring him his platte’ from now on. I owe Claire, too.”
***
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
You are always welcome to Forward or Repost or Reprint. It’s okay to acknowledge the source, unless it embarrasses you too much.
Dave Nash says that the links to my blogs and my email, which I post below, do not work. I apologize for any inconvenience. I have redone them, and so now I hope they work. If they don’t, you can type them in yourself as they are, because they are accurate, even if not workable.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://www.christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
By Their Drinks Ye Shall Know Them
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
***
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce "retired" in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at The Deja Brew Used Coffee & Plumbing Fixtures, with a book, "1001 Noises You Can Make With Your Armpit," open on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Helmut Himmel, the new pastor at Our Lady of Wittenberg Lutheran Church & Lutefisk Outlet came in and slipped into the booth across from him.
“I’ve never lived in a small town before,” said Pastor Himmel.
“Congratulations,” said Pastor Nathan.
“Yesterday I was at the Christian Outlet Mall, and I met a woman who said she might be interested in joining our church. So last night at choir practice, I asked the sopranos if they knew her. You need to check before you let somebody into a Lutheran church, because some people don’t like to shake hands to pass the peace while wearing germ-proof rubber gloves, the way we do. Ann Hiser-Bush, the lead soprano, said, ‘Yes, she drinks Manhattans.’ I’ve lived all over the world, but I didn’t know that people in small towns are identified by what they drink.”
“Well,” said Randall, “people in small towns are identified in many ways, because everybody knows everything about everybody, and now I know why everybody says your sopranos hit the high notes better than any other choir in town.”
***
A Golden Persimmon is awarded today to II Imhoff, David, the II to distinguish him from his older brother, Roger, who is I Imhoff, because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
***
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce "retired" in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at The Deja Brew Used Coffee & Plumbing Fixtures, with a book, "1001 Noises You Can Make With Your Armpit," open on the table in front of him, to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Helmut Himmel, the new pastor at Our Lady of Wittenberg Lutheran Church & Lutefisk Outlet came in and slipped into the booth across from him.
“I’ve never lived in a small town before,” said Pastor Himmel.
“Congratulations,” said Pastor Nathan.
“Yesterday I was at the Christian Outlet Mall, and I met a woman who said she might be interested in joining our church. So last night at choir practice, I asked the sopranos if they knew her. You need to check before you let somebody into a Lutheran church, because some people don’t like to shake hands to pass the peace while wearing germ-proof rubber gloves, the way we do. Ann Hiser-Bush, the lead soprano, said, ‘Yes, she drinks Manhattans.’ I’ve lived all over the world, but I didn’t know that people in small towns are identified by what they drink.”
“Well,” said Randall, “people in small towns are identified in many ways, because everybody knows everything about everybody, and now I know why everybody says your sopranos hit the high notes better than any other choir in town.”
***
A Golden Persimmon is awarded today to II Imhoff, David, the II to distinguish him from his older brother, Roger, who is I Imhoff, because the similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Nobody Believed
Periwinkle Chronicles, tales of the citizens of Periwinkle [because all the other colors were already taken] County:
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at the Good to the Last Slop Coffee Shop and Pig Racing OTB Parlor, with copies of the Koran and US Constitution open on the table in front of him to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Coach Gabe “Silent Gabby” Knightshade came in and slipped into the booth across from him.
“Nobody believed I would sit down with you,” said Silent Gabby, “but I did.”
“I watched on TV last night,” said Randall, “when your HPU Vegetable Molesters team won the NPAA national championship.”
“Yes,” said Silent Gabby, “nobody believed that we could win the National Persimmon Athletic Association championship, nobody but us, but we believed, and so we won.”
“But all the pundits picked you to win it all.”
“They picked us, but nobody believed in us, but we won.”
“That reminds me, sort of, that I want to talk with you about your mascot and what it does during the games.”
“Ha, nobody believed our mascot could do that, right out in public, but the VM lived up to its name.”
“But isn’t that a bit extreme?”
“Nobody believed we could be extreme, but we were. Besides, being Vegetable Molesters isn’t nearly as extreme as those Cornjerkers from Hoopeston and the Appleknockers from Cobden. [1] Nobody believed in us,” said Coach Gabby “but we believed in ourselves, and so we won it all.”
“But you were picked by all the newspapers and the casinos over at Lost Wages and every pundit on ESP to win it all,” said Randall.
“Yes, nobody believed in us. They thought we couldn’t win, but we did, because we believed in ourselves, even though nobody else did.”
“You coaches have a strange relationship to belief.”
“That’s right. Nobody believed I could talk like this, but I did.”
***
1] The Hoopeston, IL Cornjerkers and the Cobden, IL Appleknockers are real high school teams. Nobody believes it, but it’s true. To the best of my knowledge, they are the only teams in the country that molest vegetables, although the Somerset, KY Briar Jumpers come close, especially if they fail to clear the briars.
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), which is how they pronounce retired in Periwinkle County, or at least that’s what they tell him, was in his usual booth at the Good to the Last Slop Coffee Shop and Pig Racing OTB Parlor, with copies of the Koran and US Constitution open on the table in front of him to keep anyone from sitting with him, lest he lose points in the Hermudgeon of the Year competition, hermudgeon being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, when Coach Gabe “Silent Gabby” Knightshade came in and slipped into the booth across from him.
“Nobody believed I would sit down with you,” said Silent Gabby, “but I did.”
“I watched on TV last night,” said Randall, “when your HPU Vegetable Molesters team won the NPAA national championship.”
“Yes,” said Silent Gabby, “nobody believed that we could win the National Persimmon Athletic Association championship, nobody but us, but we believed, and so we won.”
“But all the pundits picked you to win it all.”
“They picked us, but nobody believed in us, but we won.”
“That reminds me, sort of, that I want to talk with you about your mascot and what it does during the games.”
“Ha, nobody believed our mascot could do that, right out in public, but the VM lived up to its name.”
“But isn’t that a bit extreme?”
“Nobody believed we could be extreme, but we were. Besides, being Vegetable Molesters isn’t nearly as extreme as those Cornjerkers from Hoopeston and the Appleknockers from Cobden. [1] Nobody believed in us,” said Coach Gabby “but we believed in ourselves, and so we won it all.”
“But you were picked by all the newspapers and the casinos over at Lost Wages and every pundit on ESP to win it all,” said Randall.
“Yes, nobody believed in us. They thought we couldn’t win, but we did, because we believed in ourselves, even though nobody else did.”
“You coaches have a strange relationship to belief.”
“That’s right. Nobody believed I could talk like this, but I did.”
***
1] The Hoopeston, IL Cornjerkers and the Cobden, IL Appleknockers are real high school teams. Nobody believes it, but it’s true. To the best of my knowledge, they are the only teams in the country that molest vegetables, although the Somerset, KY Briar Jumpers come close, especially if they fail to clear the briars.
The similarity between the activities in Periwinkle County and events in other places is rarely coincidental.
[“Christ in Winter,” Reflections On Faith For People In The Winter Of Their Years, can be found at http://christinwinter.blogspot.com/]
{If you would like to receive PC or CIW by email, let me know at jmcfarland1721@charter.net, and I’ll put you on the list.}
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