Subject: RE: BS: Happy Birthday Mark Cohen!
From:
GUEST,CLETUS HARDDINGER
Date: 13 Jan 03 - 01:51 PM
Doc Mark, first I wantid ta wish ya a Happy Birfday. I tole Catspaw thet he shud say sumthin nice fer yer big day but he tole me thair wuz no way senz ya lived in Huhwyee and all thet ya shud jist go fuck a pineapple er sumpin. Gess heez in wunna them moods he getz in an I doan reckon yall holt with pineapple screwin, at leezt not reel reglar like ennyway.
But senz I gotcha heer an you bein a Doc an all I wuz hoapin yall mite know sumpin bowt them Spawzitooreeze things. We'uns thot Catspaw wud know cuz thay got hiz name in thair somehow but he jes tole me ta shuv em up my ass. But yassee thay aint fer me but fer Paw an heez bin havin one helluva time with the dam thingz. See, Paw used ta have the roids real bad til we fixed him up with the magnetic ass healing ring. Heers how Catspaw tellz it.............
Paw's flattulence when combined with his passion for 'shine and hot wings used to be a big problem for him whenever his roids would flare up....so to speak...and it got to the point that little rubber donut pillows and Preparation H just weren't doing the job anymore. Clete's 6th wife was into all the weird and wacky cures so Cletus was always coming to Paw with his suggestions that he'd heard from her. When Cletus told Paw about acupuncture, he disappeared for about two weeks and I'll be damned if anyone could find him.
The Reg Boys too had their share of wacky cures for everything from the Great White North of Canada, but most of them involved bear grease and other vile and foamy liquids. Then it happened. The whole lot of them were watching my TV down in the den one night and had been subjected to at least nine hours of infomercials while they slugged down Iron City. I had learned from experience to unplug the phone and hide my credit cards on these nights which only took place when Karen was gone. I'm still paying for that quonset hut in the Aleutian Islands and I have the complete collection of Pan Flute Favorites so I have learned, albeit slowly. I think the one that finally got me was the "Great Michigan Getaway Weekend" which they bought and gave to Karen and I for an anniversary present. It was a month before I found out that they had billed it to my Visa and when we went for "rest and relaxation" in beautiful Michigan, it turned out to be clapped out motel run by a Pakistani in downtown Flint, just across from a closed GM factory.
I guess it was about 5:30 AM when Cletus woke me up and said they had the cure for Paw's hemorrhoids. This was more than I wanted or needed to know at 5:30 so after verifying that it wouldn't cost me anything, I said have at it and went back to sleep. When I woke up about 7 I had one of those vague feelings of dread. You know what I mean? Nothing was wrong that I could think of and yet I just felt the world was going to come after me that day. It turned out to be Old Man Rafferty instead....but I'll come to that.
The "boys" arrived back at my place about noon having already left when I woke at 7. They were lugging some huge electric motors into my garage and looking about for tools when I walked in and asked what the hell was going on. Cletus then launched into their "cure" and the reasoning behind it. It seems they had watched an infomercial about the "healing power of magnetism" and saw immediately that this was the way to fix Paw's 'roids. Slowly it all began to come together for me and I began to wonder how in the hell these guys could even remember how to breathe!
In any case, they'd picked up the motors from out back of Bernie's Electrical Supply and were now going to remove the large magnets inside. They idea was to cut a slit in Paw's rubber donut, insert the magnets, and then duct tape the thing back together. I noticed that Buford had an old jockstrap (with cup) that they evidently were going to use to strap the magnets to Paw's ass, again using liberal amounts of duct tape. Listening to Cletus explain all of this and their newfound theory made me begin to question my own existence, as though I really didn't exist in the world I had come to know, but was simply a bit player in a leftover Rod Serling story.
Things started going downhill pretty quickly as the magnets were removed and now were flying across my garage, affixing themselves to various steel things....like my van, my lawnmower, my golf clubs, and a little steel reinforced concrete rabbit that someone had once given us as a joke. I figured that I was going to be better off if they'd finish up somewhere else so I suggested they take all the stuff and head for the pleasant little roadside picnic area on the edge of the village where they could finish rigging Paw up and with any luck, I'd never know anything more about it. After removing the magnets, scratching the hell out of my van, breaking off the head of a 5 iron and the left ear of the rabbit, they left. The picnic area was only about a half mile off, just a bit down Rt.664 and I told them to let me know how it all worked out.
Curiosity is a terrible thing sometimes and about an hour later I grabbed my Weimaraner and his leash and set out as though I were just walking the dog. As I turned on 664 I saw the Boys all walking towards me from the little picnic grove. Paw's ass seemed to be a bit large and he was walking funny, but from a distance I could tell they must have done a good job circling his ass in magnets because outside of a slight limp and a big bulge at the rear of his bibs, Paw looked pretty normal. Then it happened. Trailing the others, Paw walked past Old Man Rafferty's mailbox, a new heavy duty steel one to foil the kids with cars and bats. He first slowed, stopped, then flew backwards and before you could say "dumbfuck" he was hanging from his ass on the mailbox. Ol' Man Rafferty was washing his aging Electra deuce and a quarter and looked up to see what was happening. By that time, Cletus, Buford, and the Reg Boys all were tugging on either Paw or Rafferty's mailbox and though they got him off the mailbox was smashed in and the pole was a goner.
Well I tell you, Rafferty came flying down the drive, gravel spitting up from his shoes, and swearing a blue streak. Paw was laying about 10 foot up the drive where he'd landed after the force of being ripped from the mailbox sent him sailing through the air. Rafferty bent over him and started yelling in his face and Paw was trying to stand up but being weighed down by the Magnetic Ass-Healing Ring. I got up there and tried to get Rafferty to calm down some as the others stood around looking bewildered. Rafferty started blaming me for allowing such "dumbass shitkickers" to stay here and how I should let them rot somewhere else. Before he could say another word, things continued to deteriorate. Paw had gotten to his feet about 15 feet from the Buick and there was a loud clanging thump as one of the hubcaps flew off and affixed itself to Paw's rump. Rafferty grabbed the hubcap and started pulling for all he was worth swinging Paw round and round in a circle. The hubcap folded and broke loose and Paw landed by the side of the road while Rafferty began to rage about his rump-sprung hubcap and twisted mailbox. I got out my checkbook and with a stern look to Cletus asked how much this would cost to keep from calling the police. The sight of my checkbook calmed Rafferty down and my Weimaraner had gone over to the side of the road and was licking Paw's face. Rafferty calculated a sum which I figured was enough to buy a new set of tires and an exhaust system for the Buick and build a brick mailbox, while forcing me nearer to bankruptcy.
Cletus and the rest were circled around me as I handed Rafferty the check and when I turned to go, I saw Paw had gotten to his feet again and was bent over stroking Jaeger's head. The dog has always had a soft spot for Paw and when I whistled for him he reluctantly came back up the drive. Bending over to pick up his leash, I heard Cletus say, "Aw Sheeitt!" Right then I couldn't imagine how things could get worse, but I looked up just in time to see Paw lifted from his feet and his ass attach to the exhaust stack of a passing Peterbilt. I watched as the truck roared off, Paw flailing around and in a blind spot where the driver couldn't see him, and the dumbass Reg boys waving "bye-bye" as the Pete rounded a curve down by the Hopewell place.
We found Paw at the truckstop at Rt.37 and I-70 where the driver had stopped for fuel. When we arrived, the Magnetic Ass-Healing Ring was nowhere to be seen and Paw was sitting on a bag of ice trying to cool the burns from riding 27 miles on an exhaust stack. But I tell you what.....Perhaps it was the scar tissue from the burns that did it, but Paw hasn't had trouble with 'roids since then. Maybe there is something to the power of magnetism.....................
Now Doc Mark, I dunno but I gess thet scar tissue got ta cozzin him problemz too so Paw went to a bunghole Doc thet give him them Spawzitooreeze but me an Buford an the Reg boyz have bin skairt ta go around him sinz he started usin the damn thingz. Ever time we stop by Paw's place, heez a lyin thair with one uv them thingz up his ass and when we try ta talk ta him, I gess he gitz ecksited ta see us and hiz ass kinda' clennches up sorta and the Spawzitooree flies outta hiz ass like a bullet. One uv them flew out and zinged around a rickashayin offen the wallz til it flew up Bufords left nostril and damn near poked hiz eyeball out. Weer all pretty skairt uv goin thair after thet so I wuz hopin yall cud give us sum idees on how ta keep them thingz in Pawz ass an outta Buford's or our noses. We wuz thinkin' bout duck tape. Whaddaya' think?
Your Friend in Birthday Merriment,
CLETUS HARDDINGER
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