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Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

August 29, 2013 Leave a comment Go to comments

By Dick Oakes, Jr.
Senior Staff Writer
https://lankvilledailynews.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/robert2bstroud01.jpg?w=86&h=122
Senior Staff Writer

The Pondicherry Association News is happy to present a new feature by veteran writer Dick Oakes, Jr.

I awoke in a windowless, subterranean bedroom and immediately spit up a surfeit of blood. A haggard blonde with jumbo yams was dressing in a corner. The light from the filthy fixture above was stale. From somewhere I heard carnival music.

The blonde lit a cigarello and said, “Bonjour mon amoreux! J’ai pense a fermer la porte a clef.” I started blankly.

I waved off coffee and stepped into the shower. Many of the tiles were gone and the water spit out onto the wood floor. Suddenly the thin muslin curtain was wrapped around me by two shadowy figures and I was pushed to the floor. Then I was lifted out of the shower and one of the guys brained me with a splintery piece of crown moulding.

When I awoke I was naked, still wrapped in the muslin shower curtain, in the back of an old ice cream truck. One of the goons sat sullenly in the corner, holding a .41 on me. The asshole had a real listless way about him. I decided to play possum.

After about ten minutes his cell phone rang. He snapped it up on the first ring.

“Yeah baby. Where are you?”
Silence.
“Naw. We’re just taking this guy up to the mountains.”
Silence.
“Well, we’re going to set him on fire with some of those leftover posters and some gas that Johnny picked up.”
Silence.
“Well, the posters have this gloss on them so we think it might take awhile. I don’t think I’ll be back before midnight.”

I kicked him hard in the shin and then got him with a perfect uppercut that shattered his jaw. I could hear the crazy bitch on the fallen cell phone, still asking about the goddamned posters. I stripped the guy of his shirt and pants, then ever so slightly opened the rear doors.

They were on the highway.

After about a half-hour they stopped at a breakfast joint. It had started to snow so I nicked the asshole’s jacket and took off into the woods. I could hear a train in the distance and I made for the tracks.

As I came out into a clearing, I saw a series of antique dolls tied to some of the trees. A fire had been recently extinguished and there was a tiny green pup tent set up on an old palette. There was a jar of mustard on the palette and a pair of red plastic tongs. A tiny robot was pushing the tongs around senselessly.  I decided to keep going.

It took another ten minutes, through thick underbrush, but I finally made it to the tracks. It was an old coal engine pulling some graffiti-ridden boxcars. I hopped on the first that had its cargo door open. There was some straw in one corner and before long I had fallen into a deep and troubled sleep. I dreamed of a disturbing redhead, a kittenish piece of used jailbait. She was hanging around with a house-dick. They were making jokes in a darkened hotel lobby, filled with a thick gloom, like gas. When I awoke my pants were gone.

I jumped off the train in a little town and nicked a pair of stone-washed jeans from a second-hand place run by a guy that looked like a gibbon. That’s when I ran into Probationer Talleyrand. “Mr. Oakes”, he said. What are you doing across state lines?” I had no choice but to lure him into a soda fountain, ask everyone to clear the room, and drown him in the sink. I hoped I would have a half-hour start.

But I never did leave that little town.

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