Canyon Country Zephyr page 34

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Silence is Golden

Ned Mudd

My name is Hiram Browne. I remember a stinking feedlot outside Elk City Oklahoma that smelled so bad it caused my car to backfire. Oklahoma always made me sick. Those cows stood ankle deep in something so foul, only God could save those cows.

We passed the feed lot and a big turtle walked out onto the Interstate. How it figured a way onto I-40 is anybody's guess. The thing must've squeezed under America's most expensive fence. Its shell was at least as big as a 16 inch pizza.

I swerved in time to miss the leviathan as it lumbered across the hot asphalt. Its me-

ghetti, making sinister crackling noises whenever a rain drop hit them. You could see blue sparks jumping around like neon reptiles. Not a good place to be on foot, especially in a drizzle.

A burly character in a helmet was shining a spot light at a power pole, a radio squawking on his belt. I heard a fuzzy voice say, "We got hot wires and a possible gas break here." It didn't take much to figure out that smart folks would get out of there real fast. If enough gas got loose on one of those sparking power lines there'd be hell to pay. And that's exactly

chanical gait was a failure as far as safety was concerned. Nobody wants to hit a full grown turtle, but it's just a fucking turtle.

Should I turn around and rescue that thing?" I asked Jasmine. Her hair is a nice red color, almost pink in places. But natural!

I could tell she thought I was acting nutty. A Winnebago was passing on my left. I looked over and saw a kid in the back window. He was mooning me, as plain as day.

"Assuming you find a place to turn around, then what - jump out and dance around on the freeway? Better screw the thinking cap down a little tighter." I generally avoid rock-steady personalities; but Jasmine was born with an uncanny inner gyroscope. It's good to have somebody around who can smooth the edges.

Jasmine doesn't beat around the bush. Her mother was country folk and lived in a house with a sign out front announcing: "Palms read - $5." The old bag called herself Madam Moon, only that wasn't her real name. And I say "called herself' because she's dead now and, as far as we know, has become very quiet.

Young kids tend to be impressionable and don't always see through the ruse of other people's gimmicks. When Madam Moon informed her pig-tailed daughter that the fingers of Destiny leave trails across people's palms, Jasmine took a quick look and saw what her mother was talking about.

"You see that squiggly line right

what happened.

Fate can be a tricky bastard. Take that gas explosion, for example.

After they pulled us from the wreckage, it was revealed that poor Jasmine's hearing had been sucked right out of her head. She claims that being deaf comes with an order of beneficial side effects. And I suppose she's right, seeings how she can't hear the god-damned washing machine as it rattles every 2-by-4 in the house. I always knew the guy that built our place was a dumb ass.

It took me longer to master sign language than her. That I cut 8 of the 23 classes probably didn't help. But I never did like school. My philosophy is: things that don't click right away ought to be avoided. In fact, I keep a laundry list of avoidable endeavors. Foreign languages, geometry, spelling, and taxes are on that list.

It's not like I'm unpatriotic about paying my fair share to Uncle Sam; but the first time I tried to fill out that 1040 EZ form, I about had an attack of hemorrhoids. It was soon thereafter that I devised my own form for paying dues. Here's how it works:

Dear Mr. Tax Collector:

That EZ Form of yours turns out to be a serious disappointment. I can't figure it out at all. So I'm enclosing a donation to the government that should cover what I owe. I got no checking account. So here's a 20 dollar bill. Keep up the good work,

Hiram Browne

When we stepped into the big Ball Room, the first thing that happened was a bunch of people in crazy costumes came running up and wiggled their fingers at us. Ever since the accident, everybody has gotten on this sign language kick. Jasmine swears she understands most of what

there?" the Madam asked, indicating a wrinkle in Jasmine's left palm.

"Uh huh," Jasmine said.

"Well, that's as easy to read as a movie marquee. It says that if you ever start telling lies, your life will come to an untimely end. Just like that," her mother said.

It should've dawned on Jasmine that her mother couldn't read, not even a movie marquee. That would've lessened the impact of the Madam's strange insight into the future. Instead, Jasmine grew up to be lie-phobic, which is why she never beats around the bush. How about that for home training?

Last year a big tornado appeared and tore up half the neighborhood. Good thing for me, it wasn't my half. That twister must've formed real fast and jumped to the ground before anybody knew what was happening. Maybe people watching TV got some advance warning. I wouldn't know. The idea that television is a forward step in man's evolution never sat right with my way of thinking. They don't call it the idiot box for nothing.

The first inkling we had that something nasty had happened was the sirens. We put on our rubber boots and sloshed up the road to see what was going on. Nothing like a natural disaster to get people out of the house.

Up past the big oak tree, where the road cuts across the river, we came onto a mess of debris from where a house had blown up. The tornado had taken whole trees out of the ground and tossed them in the weirdest places. A busted up hickory was lying flat across the hood of an old Ford Taurus that I thought might belong to Colonel Harris of the National Guard. By a quirk of fate, the car's emergency flashers were blinking hysterically. For a minute I thought the red flashing fights were trying to spell something with Morse Code. If they were it didn't register. I don't read Morse Code. Sign language, yes; but not Morse Code.

If you never see a tornado up close, consider yourself lucky. They're nothing totouble. On the other hand, there's a perverse fascination one feels in the presence of brute natural forces. And a big tornado is about as brute as it gets, a reminder of how run-of-the-mill humans tend to be.

"Jesus, Hiram, there's power lines all over the place," Jasmine said. "You think these rubber boots'll keep us from getting shocked?"

I thought that was the funniest thing I'd ever heard in my life.

"Hell no," I said.

But she'd brought up a decent point. Wires were lying across the road like killer spa-

people are trying to say, but it looks like gibberish to me. You'd be surprised to learn how easy it is to confuse one sign for another. You might think you're using the sign for "no thank you" when you're really saying "your butt stinks." That would make a big difference in the way a sentence came out.

The fact that it was Halloween had brought out every costume fetish in town. I recognized about half the revelers right off, others took some probing. Wasn't that Judge Farrel dressed up like an orangutan? He always was a son of a bitch. Like the time he gave me 30 days for wearing a T-shirt in his Court Room that said I got laid in Key West. I was merely a witness in the case.

Come to think of it, maybe the T-shirt just kicked things off. It was when I refused to swear on the Holy Bible that the Judge went ballistic.

"Listen here, you impudent cretin," he told me.

I was listening.

"This is a Hall of Justice and you'll follow the Rules of Procedure like every other God fearing member of this community." The Judge looked goofy in his black robe and worn out bi-focals. Isn't that a toupee he screws on his fat head?

"Do you hear me?" he yelled. I could hear him just fine, even if he was causing a mist of spittle to rain down.

"Sorry to piss you off, Judge; but you got the wrong guy," I said, wiping a blob of spit onto my jeans.

"What in tarnation are you talking about?" the Judge asked me. "Were you a witness to this incident or not?" He looked stern as a screech owl.

"Oh, yes sir. I saw what happened when Tom Satterfield rammed his truck into the Post Office wall; but count me out as a God fearing man," I told him.

"Objection, your Honor!" barked Tom's red faced Texas lawyer.

The judge looked at the Texas lawyer, then at me.

"What do you mean by that remark?" he said. His bi-focals were starting to slide down his greasy nose.

"Well, I don't really like the idea of putting my hand on a book that everybody else has had their paws on. I might get a head cold or a throw up virus; you know what I mean?"

After a short recess, I got 30 days for "contempt of Court." I wasn't in contempt of the Court, just that Good Book they place so much faith in. As if swearing on a book will keep somebody from telling lies.

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	Silence is Golden Ned Mudd My name is Hiram Browne. I remember a stinking feedlot outside Elk City Oklahoma that smelled so bad it caused my car to backfire. Oklahoma always made me sick. Those cows stood ankle deep in something so foul, only God could save those cows. We passed the feed lot and a big turtle walked out onto the Interstate. How it figured a way onto I-40 is anybody's guess. The thing must've squeezed under America's most expensive fence. Its shell was at least as big as a 16 inch pizza. I swerved in time to miss the leviathan as it lumbered across the hot asphalt. Its me- ghetti, making sinister crackling noises whenever a rain drop hit them. You could see blue sparks jumping around like neon reptiles. Not a good place to be on foot, especially in a drizzle. A burly character in a helmet was shining a spot light at a power pole, a radio squawking on his belt. I heard a fuzzy voice say, "We got hot wires and a possible gas break here." It didn't take much to figure out that smart folks would get out of there real fast. If enough gas got loose on one of those sparking power lines there'd be hell to pay. And that's exactly chanical gait was a failure as far as safety was concerned. Nobody wants to hit a full grown turtle, but it's just a fucking turtle. Should I turn around and rescue that thing?" I asked Jasmine. Her hair is a nice red color, almost pink in places. But natural! I could tell she thought I was acting nutty. A Winnebago was passing on my left. I looked over and saw a kid in the back window. He was mooning me, as plain as day. "Assuming you find a place to turn around, then what - jump out and dance around on the freeway? Better screw the thinking cap down a little tighter." I generally avoid rock-steady personalities; but Jasmine was born with an uncanny inner gyroscope. It's good to have somebody around who can smooth the edges. Jasmine doesn't beat around the bush. Her mother was country folk and lived in a house with a sign out front announcing: "Palms read - $5." The old bag called herself Madam Moon, only that wasn't her real name. And I say "called herself' because she's dead now and, as far as we know, has become very quiet. Young kids tend to be impressionable and don't always see through the ruse of other people's gimmicks. When Madam Moon informed her pig-tailed daughter that the fingers of Destiny leave trails across people's palms, Jasmine took a quick look and saw what her mother was talking about. "You see that squiggly line right what happened. Fate can be a tricky bastard. Take that gas explosion, for example. After they pulled us from the wreckage, it was revealed that poor Jasmine's hearing had been sucked right out of her head. She claims that being deaf comes with an order of beneficial side effects. And I suppose she's right, seeings how she can't hear the god-damned washing machine as it rattles every 2-by-4 in the house. I always knew the guy that built our place was a dumb ass. It took me longer to master sign language than her. That I cut 8 of the 23 classes probably didn't help. But I never did like school. My philosophy is: things that don't click right away ought to be avoided. In fact, I keep a laundry list of avoidable endeavors. Foreign languages, geometry, spelling, and taxes are on that list. It's not like I'm unpatriotic about paying my fair share to Uncle Sam; but the first time I tried to fill out that 1040 EZ form, I about had an attack of hemorrhoids. It was soon thereafter that I devised my own form for paying dues. Here's how it works: Dear Mr. Tax Collector: That EZ Form of yours turns out to be a serious disappointment. I can't figure it out at all. So I'm enclosing a donation to the government that should cover what I owe. I got no checking account. So here's a 20 dollar bill. Keep up the good work, Hiram Browne When we stepped into the big Ball Room, the first thing that happened was a bunch of people in crazy costumes came running up and wiggled their fingers at us. Ever since the accident, everybody has gotten on this sign language kick. Jasmine swears she understands most of what there?" the Madam asked, indicating a wrinkle in Jasmine's left palm. "Uh huh," Jasmine said. "Well, that's as easy to read as a movie marquee. It says that if you ever start telling lies, your life will come to an untimely end. Just like that," her mother said. It should've dawned on Jasmine that her mother couldn't read, not even a movie marquee. That would've lessened the impact of the Madam's strange insight into the future. Instead, Jasmine grew up to be lie-phobic, which is why she never beats around the bush. How about that for home training? Last year a big tornado appeared and tore up half the neighborhood. Good thing for me, it wasn't my half. That twister must've formed real fast and jumped to the ground before anybody knew what was happening. Maybe people watching TV got some advance warning. I wouldn't know. The idea that television is a forward step in man's evolution never sat right with my way of thinking. They don't call it the idiot box for nothing. The first inkling we had that something nasty had happened was the sirens. We put on our rubber boots and sloshed up the road to see what was going on. Nothing like a natural disaster to get people out of the house. Up past the big oak tree, where the road cuts across the river, we came onto a mess of debris from where a house had blown up. The tornado had taken whole trees out of the ground and tossed them in the weirdest places. A busted up hickory was lying flat across the hood of an old Ford Taurus that I thought might belong to Colonel Harris of the National Guard. By a quirk of fate, the car's emergency flashers were blinking hysterically. For a minute I thought the red flashing fights were trying to spell something with Morse Code. If they were it didn't register. I don't read Morse Code. Sign language, yes; but not Morse Code. If you never see a tornado up close, consider yourself lucky. They're nothing totouble. On the other hand, there's a perverse fascination one feels in the presence of brute natural forces. And a big tornado is about as brute as it gets, a reminder of how run-of-the-mill humans tend to be. "Jesus, Hiram, there's power lines all over the place," Jasmine said. "You think these rubber boots'll keep us from getting shocked?" I thought that was the funniest thing I'd ever heard in my life. "Hell no," I said. But she'd brought up a decent point. Wires were lying across the road like killer spa- people are trying to say, but it looks like gibberish to me. You'd be surprised to learn how easy it is to confuse one sign for another. You might think you're using the sign for "no thank you" when you're really saying "your butt stinks." That would make a big difference in the way a sentence came out. The fact that it was Halloween had brought out every costume fetish in town. I recognized about half the revelers right off, others took some probing. Wasn't that Judge Farrel dressed up like an orangutan? He always was a son of a bitch. Like the time he gave me 30 days for wearing a T-shirt in his Court Room that said I got laid in Key West. I was merely a witness in the case. Come to think of it, maybe the T-shirt just kicked things off. It was when I refused to swear on the Holy Bible that the Judge went ballistic. "Listen here, you impudent cretin," he told me. I was listening. "This is a Hall of Justice and you'll follow the Rules of Procedure like every other God fearing member of this community." The Judge looked goofy in his black robe and worn out bi-focals. Isn't that a toupee he screws on his fat head? "Do you hear me?" he yelled. I could hear him just fine, even if he was causing a mist of spittle to rain down. "Sorry to piss you off, Judge; but you got the wrong guy," I said, wiping a blob of spit onto my jeans. "What in tarnation are you talking about?" the Judge asked me. "Were you a witness to this incident or not?" He looked stern as a screech owl. "Oh, yes sir. I saw what happened when Tom Satterfield rammed his truck into the Post Office wall; but count me out as a God fearing man," I told him. "Objection, your Honor!" barked Tom's red faced Texas lawyer. The judge looked at the Texas lawyer, then at me. "What do you mean by that remark?" he said. His bi-focals were starting to slide down his greasy nose. "Well, I don't really like the idea of putting my hand on a book that everybody else has had their paws on. I might get a head cold or a throw up virus; you know what I mean?" After a short recess, I got 30 days for "contempt of Court." I wasn't in contempt of the Court, just that Good Book they place so much faith in. As if swearing on a book will keep somebody from telling lies.


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