Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.
I woke up on a sweat-stained cot in a shed.
There was a little dust-encrusted window. The light coming through made it look like early evening.
I heard a sound outside the door– it was like a balloon slowly being deflated. Who knew what the hell to make of it.
There was a little portable fridge and it was stocked with nothing but cans of FUN BEER and little plastic containers of soup. I drank two of the beers down and felt a little better.
I pushed the door open. It didn’t come easy. The twilight desert landscape unfolded before me. Off about a hundred feet, there was Tibbs, deflating a beach ball and holding it up to the heavens. It was all hell ridiculous.
MR. OATES! GOOD EVENING, MR. OATES! WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE AN OFFERING?
“Think I’ll skip it, Tibbs.”
OH, THAT’S FINE, THAT’S FINE. EACH OF US WILL RECEIVE QUITTANCE UPON DEATH, AFTER ALL! I AM MERELY TRYING TO ACCELERATE THE…WELL, EACH OF US WILL FLOURISH LIKE THE PALM TREE, DON’T YOU THINK?
Tibbs suddenly drew a circle in the sand with a stick. My head was pounding.
“What happened last night, Tibbs? What kind of jackpot are we in here?”
He laughed– the loud, weird booming laugh that petered out into hysteria.
MR. OAKES. LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE STORAX ROD.
I threw up suddenly against the shed. Tibbs darted forward and held me by the ears, shaking my head from side to side. I pushed him away.
I crawled back into the shed and opened another FUN BEER. I noticed again the open case in the corner– the machine gun and a pile of spent casings. And the thought hit me– maybe not the best idea to hitch your wagon to this guy, Oakes.
After awhile, I went back outside. It was dark now. I saw nothing but could still hear the sound of the beach ball being deflated and Tibbs’ desperate wheezing.
“Tibbs? I…I need to talk.”
OWWWWWWLLLLLLLLLSSSSSSS
“Tibbs?”
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. OOOOOOOOOOOOOO, THE TREASURE OF VIRGINITY, SKY GOD!
Get the hell out of here, get the hell out of here, now I can’t see anything I don’t know where I am I don’t have anything
THE FIERY PIVOTS ARE TURNING IN MY EARS. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Yes
I took off running towards nothing.
Must have been four hours. Spent and exhausted, I arrived in a sleepy desert town– one main street in darkness with some senseless back roads that went off into oblivion.
Near the end of the town was a two-lane highway that seemed to pop up out of nowhere. And there was a motel with a pool.
I scanned my wallet. $37.
The guy at the counter had a bingo drum and he was spinning it way too fast and calling out the numbers to nobody. There weren’t no sense to any of it.
“Can I get a room for $37?”
He thought about that. It took him awhile.
“Well, on account of us being slow, I guess’n I can accommodate ya.”
“I need…I need to stay for a few days. How about giving me a few chores, little custodial work or something?”
He took his time thinking about that one too. “I guess’n I got some gutters that need cleanin’. Plus, I got this bingo here. Got to keep it spinning but my arms is starting to hurt.”
That wasn’t no good. I had to stay out of sight.
“What about something inside?” I fished.
“Well…I got Mary-Betty for that. She comes five hours a week. Sometimes ten if’n I need help with the bingo wheel.”
“Painting? Interior?”
“Yeah, I guess I could use some painting. Couple of the rooms have mold all over the walls. Tell me, how the hell do you get mold all over the walls in the god damn desert?”
I couldn’t answer that one.
But I slept like a baby that night.
Related
Leave a comment Cancel reply
WATCH THE LANKVILLE ACTION NEWS: YES! TEAM Tonight at 7PM
LANKVILLE DAILY NEWS: WE ARE LANKVILLE
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
LANKVILLE DAILY NEWS: IN BOOK FORM!
FIND YOUR FAVORITE COLUMNS!
LANKVILLE WEATHER FOR TODAY
TONIGHT ON TV! RICHARD AND THE POSTMAN REUNION SPECIAL!
ACCOMMODATIONS
ADULT ADVERTISEMENT
ADVERTISEMENT
ADVERTISEMENT
ADVERTISEMENT
ADVERTISEMENT
ADVERTISEMENT
BANDED DUFFELS ON PALLETS
BOOKS OF INTEREST
BRIAN SCHROPP IN THE LANKVILLE DAILY NEWS
CANDY
CAT PHOTO
CHAMBERS CO. HAND DRILLS: When Electricity is Not an Option
CRIME BLOTTER
CURIOUS LETTERS
Gentlemen,
My name is Fletcher M. Gregory, Jr. and I am 85 years old. I have long been an admirer of your Fluffy Marshes-Mallows; indeed, my man-servant Mr. Swift and I enjoy it atop our sundaes three or four days per week! However, as time has passed, I have noticed that your product becomes more and more difficult to locate in the grocery center and that other, obviously inferior products are now being allotted primer space. Now, this could be the work of the disgraceful he-she that manages my local grocery center (IT'S name is "Steve") but I have had other associates who have expressed similar concerns.
Therefore, I was hoping you could provide me with information on how you intend to rectify this matter as I am fearful that your fine product will eventually disappear forever from the shelves of my local grocery center-cum Sodom.
Yours faithfully,
Fletcher M. Gregory, Lankville
ELEPHANT RIDES
EMPLOYMENT
EMPLOYMENT
EMPLOYMENT
EMPLOYMENT
FARM
FARM
FOX FOR PARTIES
GELSINGER’S FRENCH TOAST
GREBOV BROTHERS TELESCOPE COMPANY
GUMP PENETRATES
HADBAWNIK HAUNTED STAIRCASE COMPANY
HADBAWNIK HAUNTED BRUSH PILES!
HEY! WANT A MONKEY?
HOME DUMP Your Neighborhood Hardware Store 16 Lankville Locations!
INFLAMED BY STARS AND BLOOD
INTERNSHIPS
JOHNNY PADRES, OPTICIAN
LANKVILLE IN PIECES
LETTER SACK
Jade Gorman on Funny Stories by Dick Oakes,… | |
oversion on Samways and Fick: Identity… | |
oversion on Funny Stories by Dick Oakes,… | |
oversion on Bath Times with My Father Gump… | |
Life Lessons Funeral… on Son of Tibbs |
Best thing for mould is air. Just air the place out a bit.