| Humor Fiction posted May 21, 2021 |
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Unidentifiable Standing Odd-ject
The Spaceman Cometh
by Elizabeth Emerald
Cliff notes for those who haven't been reading the book:
This chapter features my favorite pair of recurring quirky characters:
1) Chuck: My "Best Man" (twelve years ago TODAY, not that he EVER remembers). Age 73; pale, skinny, shiny pate with silver fringe.
2) Scott: Vacuum cleaner repairman; teller of tall tales, whose backbones I vigorously massage, so as to make them stand taller. Age 60; ditto the pale, skinny, shiny (surrounded by minuscule stubble of indeterminate color).
On Monday, I stopped by Scott's shop to scoop a fresh batch of fodder for my FLASHes. Scott said that Chuck had been there earlier to take "progress" photos of the nearby bridge, which has been, for the past sixteen months, undergoing intermittent reconstruction.
In optimistic anticipation of encountering workmen wielding jackhammers, Chuck had stuffed his ears with a pair of paper napkins, the twirled-up ends of which protruded two inches.
Always eager to tinker, Chuck, after snapping superfluous photos, proceeded to superfluously assist in the assembly of a pair of newly delivered ready-to-go Dirt Devil Deluxes.
Chuck, sensing sunbeams tickling his crop circle, dropped his token wrench and scurried to his car to fetch the sunbonnet (!) he wore to forestall scalp burn.
The bonnet had declined to accompany Chuck; it was presumably still sunning itself on the deck where he'd left it.
Chuck emerged from his car, wearing a fluorescent yellow plastic bag on his head, its handles grasped in his right hand, so as to keep it from blowing away whilst being ballooned by the wind.
Thus glowingly garbed, Chuck approached Scott's yard, to the astonishment of the couple who'd come to retrieve the Hoover that Scott had repaired.
As the lemon-lime snow-coned, ear-plugged creature encroached upon them, the pair fled.
Their abandoned vacuum cleaner was duly consigned to Scott's shed, to dwell forevermore amidst the company of its orphaned fellows.
Cliff notes for those who haven't been reading the book:
This chapter features my favorite pair of recurring quirky characters:
1) Chuck: My "Best Man" (twelve years ago TODAY, not that he EVER remembers). Age 73; pale, skinny, shiny pate with silver fringe.
2) Scott: Vacuum cleaner repairman; teller of tall tales, whose backbones I vigorously massage, so as to make them stand taller. Age 60; ditto the pale, skinny, shiny (surrounded by minuscule stubble of indeterminate color).
On Monday, I stopped by Scott's shop to scoop a fresh batch of fodder for my FLASHes. Scott said that Chuck had been there earlier to take "progress" photos of the nearby bridge, which has been, for the past sixteen months, undergoing intermittent reconstruction.
In optimistic anticipation of encountering workmen wielding jackhammers, Chuck had stuffed his ears with a pair of paper napkins, the twirled-up ends of which protruded two inches.
Always eager to tinker, Chuck, after snapping superfluous photos, proceeded to superfluously assist in the assembly of a pair of newly delivered ready-to-go Dirt Devil Deluxes.
Chuck, sensing sunbeams tickling his crop circle, dropped his token wrench and scurried to his car to fetch the sunbonnet (!) he wore to forestall scalp burn.
The bonnet had declined to accompany Chuck; it was presumably still sunning itself on the deck where he'd left it.
Chuck emerged from his car, wearing a fluorescent yellow plastic bag on his head, its handles grasped in his right hand, so as to keep it from blowing away whilst being ballooned by the wind.
Thus glowingly garbed, Chuck approached Scott's yard, to the astonishment of the couple who'd come to retrieve the Hoover that Scott had repaired.
As the lemon-lime snow-coned, ear-plugged creature encroached upon them, the pair fled.
Their abandoned vacuum cleaner was duly consigned to Scott's shed, to dwell forevermore amidst the company of its orphaned fellows.
 Recognized |
Alien, Somehow, Somewhere by Raoul D'Harmental THANK YOU!
Inspired by truth, enhanced by imagination.
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