SuperBuickGuy
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 3,403
- Location
- Woodinville, WA
Mrs. Murphy walked out into the driveway with Carl and Emma, peered under the huge Suburban, and let out a gasp. There was an enormous puddle of goop covering the driveway all the way down to the street. And the stench was awesome!
Emma started moving small items out of the Suburban into the Bronco, while Mrs. Murphy stared dumbly at the brooding bulk of The Whale and the slimy driveway. A loud bang startled Mrs. Murphy out of her near-stupor. Emma came out of The Whale, coughing and gagging, with smoke pouring out after her. "Cough. Wheez. Gag. Darned microwave blew up again. All I did was brush up against the door. But don't worry, I put the fire out.
Oh well, at least the fire isn't as bad as when the air condi¬ tioning unit melts down. Then it smells like someone set a wet goat on fire."
Mrs. Murphy backed up a few feet and nervously eyed the thick smoke filling up the interior of The Whale. "Uh, say you folks wouldn't want to buy this... uhh... thing back, would you? I mean for a real good price?" Carl started to speak and Emma gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. "No thanks, dear. We don't have much money left since we've owned The Whale. But we might trade you a few things for it."
Mrs. Murphy looked relieved beyond words. "Yes, yes... I mean, what do you have?" Emma furled her brow and pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. "Well, Carl has a nice collection of guns and fishing gear. I suppose we could give you that. It must be worth thousands." Carl wanted to protest loudly, but Emma had a section of fat on his side grasped firmly in her hand, and she was twisting it. The more he tried to talk, the more Emma twisted. Since her hand was behind her back, Mrs. Murphy did not notice.
But she certainly was ready get rid of The Whale. "I'll take it! The guns and the fishing rods, that is. Just lean them against the garage door and I'll get that title back for you."
While Mrs. Murphy hustled off to the house, Carl and Emma unloaded the six shot-guns, four 22s and the elephant gun, and leaned them against the garage. Next, 17 fishing rods, varying in length, joined the guns. A small tear coursed down Carl’s cheek. "What the... how did you... I mean..."
Emma noticed Mrs. Murphy coming back, title in hand, and snapped, "Hush up! I'll explain everything later!"
***
One hour later, Carl and Emma were sitting in a small country bar, north of Vegas. Carl had slammed down three quick long-necked Buds before he could even bring himself to speak. "Ya know, Emma... I'm more than a little bit ticked off that you traded my guns and fishin' stuff, but I guess if we got The Whale back, it's worth it. But what I don't understand is how you got The Whale to leak oil and spit smoke out?"
Emma crinkled her mouth up into an evil little smile. "Easy. I pulled the dump handle on the toilet on the way in to her house. It's a good thing, too. That thing hadn't been emptied for the better part of a month."
Carl still looked confused. "But how did you make the micro-wave oven catch on fire?"
"Easy as pie. I put a stack of your World Wrestling Federa¬ tion magazines on the stove and turned the flame on." "What! You burned my WWF magazines? I hope you didn't burn the April issue with the story on Jake the Snake Roberts." "Carl, they're all gone. Even the April issue. They were the only things handy, and we did manage to get The Whale back, so just back off, buster!"
Carl was quiet for a while, the silence broken only by the sound of him eating two bags of BBQ chips, a half dozen pickled eggs, four Slim Jim sausages and a bowl of peanuts. Carl sighed, then brightened. "Well, at least this means that we not only got The Whale back, we can sell the new Bronco and we're big money ahead. Somebody out there probably wants a Ford, right?"
Emma clenched her tiny fists. "Yes. This somebody. I like this Bronco and I think I'd like to drive it around for a while. So why don't you just drive your precious old Whale around behind my shiny new Bronco for a while. Or better yet, sell it and have a passenger seat in my Ford."
***
What's this? Mutiny? Could it be that Emma just got a real dose of Womens Lib? Will they be wandering separate, but equal, from now on? Things are getting confusing, but with any luck at all, we stand a chance or sorting things out next month. Maybe.
Emma started moving small items out of the Suburban into the Bronco, while Mrs. Murphy stared dumbly at the brooding bulk of The Whale and the slimy driveway. A loud bang startled Mrs. Murphy out of her near-stupor. Emma came out of The Whale, coughing and gagging, with smoke pouring out after her. "Cough. Wheez. Gag. Darned microwave blew up again. All I did was brush up against the door. But don't worry, I put the fire out.
Oh well, at least the fire isn't as bad as when the air condi¬ tioning unit melts down. Then it smells like someone set a wet goat on fire."
Mrs. Murphy backed up a few feet and nervously eyed the thick smoke filling up the interior of The Whale. "Uh, say you folks wouldn't want to buy this... uhh... thing back, would you? I mean for a real good price?" Carl started to speak and Emma gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. "No thanks, dear. We don't have much money left since we've owned The Whale. But we might trade you a few things for it."
Mrs. Murphy looked relieved beyond words. "Yes, yes... I mean, what do you have?" Emma furled her brow and pushed her glasses higher up on her nose. "Well, Carl has a nice collection of guns and fishing gear. I suppose we could give you that. It must be worth thousands." Carl wanted to protest loudly, but Emma had a section of fat on his side grasped firmly in her hand, and she was twisting it. The more he tried to talk, the more Emma twisted. Since her hand was behind her back, Mrs. Murphy did not notice.
But she certainly was ready get rid of The Whale. "I'll take it! The guns and the fishing rods, that is. Just lean them against the garage door and I'll get that title back for you."
While Mrs. Murphy hustled off to the house, Carl and Emma unloaded the six shot-guns, four 22s and the elephant gun, and leaned them against the garage. Next, 17 fishing rods, varying in length, joined the guns. A small tear coursed down Carl’s cheek. "What the... how did you... I mean..."
Emma noticed Mrs. Murphy coming back, title in hand, and snapped, "Hush up! I'll explain everything later!"
***
One hour later, Carl and Emma were sitting in a small country bar, north of Vegas. Carl had slammed down three quick long-necked Buds before he could even bring himself to speak. "Ya know, Emma... I'm more than a little bit ticked off that you traded my guns and fishin' stuff, but I guess if we got The Whale back, it's worth it. But what I don't understand is how you got The Whale to leak oil and spit smoke out?"
Emma crinkled her mouth up into an evil little smile. "Easy. I pulled the dump handle on the toilet on the way in to her house. It's a good thing, too. That thing hadn't been emptied for the better part of a month."
Carl still looked confused. "But how did you make the micro-wave oven catch on fire?"
"Easy as pie. I put a stack of your World Wrestling Federa¬ tion magazines on the stove and turned the flame on." "What! You burned my WWF magazines? I hope you didn't burn the April issue with the story on Jake the Snake Roberts." "Carl, they're all gone. Even the April issue. They were the only things handy, and we did manage to get The Whale back, so just back off, buster!"
Carl was quiet for a while, the silence broken only by the sound of him eating two bags of BBQ chips, a half dozen pickled eggs, four Slim Jim sausages and a bowl of peanuts. Carl sighed, then brightened. "Well, at least this means that we not only got The Whale back, we can sell the new Bronco and we're big money ahead. Somebody out there probably wants a Ford, right?"
Emma clenched her tiny fists. "Yes. This somebody. I like this Bronco and I think I'd like to drive it around for a while. So why don't you just drive your precious old Whale around behind my shiny new Bronco for a while. Or better yet, sell it and have a passenger seat in my Ford."
***
What's this? Mutiny? Could it be that Emma just got a real dose of Womens Lib? Will they be wandering separate, but equal, from now on? Things are getting confusing, but with any luck at all, we stand a chance or sorting things out next month. Maybe.