In Line or On Person

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 House and Colbert Nation Museum” peacefully sipping his Caribou Crunch Coffee, which is listed on the menu as Kariboo Krunch Kauphy, but he refuses to drink misspelled coffee, but likes CCC a lot, and does not like KKK, so he respells it in his moleskin notebook where he keeps his personal menus of the joints he frequents, when a man came in and grabbed the rubber boa constrictor The Rev. Dr. Nathan, (Retard) puts in the seat across from him in his booth so that nobody will sit there, lest he lose points in The Hermudgeon of the Year competition, “hermudgeon” being a conflation of hermit and curmudgeon, and said, “What the hell’s this?”

“A boa,” said Randall.

“Oh,” said Horace, and he wrapped it around his neck and sat down. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“It’s been longer than that,” said Randall. “We’ve never met.”

“Yeah, but I recognize you from your picture at the post office, but I haven’t been there in a long time, so I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I’m Ran…”

“I know,” interrupted Horace, “you’re randy. I can see that. That’s my problem, too. And now they won’t let me into the Henry Ferd Community College over to the hard road, and they should never have named it after that anti-simian, anyway.”

“I didn’t realize that Henry Ferd was an anti-simian,” said Randall. “I thought he was just famous for inventing the automatic persimmon pervenator.”

“Oh, yeah, total anti-simian. Hated monkeys. Bamboos, too.”

“Don’t you mean baboons?”

“No, he thought they were okay, because they could be trained to use his pervenators. But he hated pandas, too, ‘cause they’ve got those disposable thumbs and can’t use the pervenators, so he hated bamboos, ‘cause pandas like to eat them, you know.”

“What does this have to do with them not letting you into the Community College?”

“Well, it said in ‘The Old Weird Harold’ that you could register online or in person. I didn’t want to stand in line, and I’m a person, so I just went out there and right through their front doors and there wasn’t even any line, just this woman with big balloons sitting there at a desk. Must have been left over from a party. But she said I’d have to get into their computer, and durned if I’m going to do that. I’ve read all about them things. They steal your id. You realize how hard it is to get along at my age without an id? Now, if they’d steal my super-ego, that would be okay, but not my id.”

“I think that’s I-D instead of id,” said Randall.

“I got no eye-dee what you’re talking about.”

“It’s pronounced id…”

“Oh, yeah, I know that. Beware the ids of Marge. I’ll tell you, that woman’s got an id like you wouldn’t believe.”

That was when Randall Nathan flipped the switch on the remote control that causes his rubber boa to start constricting.

***
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.}