Walden Puddle: PROJECT WINDBREAKER: THE SHOCKING CONCLUSION

January 29, 2010, Vol. 1, No. 8

CONTENTS
(in scroll-down order)

THE BEARS OF WALDEN PUDDLE
by Dr. Ursula Whipple
All Dr. Whipple wanted was some comfort food. "Was I asking too much?" she says.

PROJECT WINDBREAKER: THE SHOCKING CONCLUSION
by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative
Colonel Biff Sanders finally gets to the point and spills the beans about NASA's most embarrassing secret.

THE TALK OF WALDEN PUDDLE
reportage from the Agreeable Doughnut Cafe
Is the earth flat ... or round? In most places that question was settled long ago. In Walden Puddle, the debate rages.

THE BEARS OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
Notes from the Field, Plus Expert Advice

by Dr. Ursula Whipple

Field Notes: January 17, 2010. What the hell, I sent out for a pizza. I specifically said "sausage and onions," and they sent me anchovy. Von Himmelhoff's Pizzeria always screws up your order. There's nothing you can do; it's a tradition. Germans have been making pizza in Walden Puddle since 1871. Domino's tried to open a franchise out on Route 143 a few years back, but the Germans overran it.

The Mexican delivery guy couldn't speak English. When I complained, he thought I was saying he wouldn't get a tip, so he starts crying. He whips out these pictures of his family, and his dog, and his favorite soccer team, and he taps himself on the chest like, "They all depend on me."

I figured, what the hell, I'll eat around the anchovies, so I took the damn pizza, and I overtipped him, and he immediately stops crying and starts laughing, and he runs to his car like ... I did it again!

Nobody likes anchovy pizza. We all know that. But when I started tossing the anchovy pieces into the mulch pile ... all my bears were there, going crazy for those anchovies. My hypothesis is that bears are the only living things that like anchovy pizza.

I have submitted 10 articles about this important finding to various scholarly journals, including National Geographic and Boys Life, and I have high hopes that I will finally get published. I am only 29 or so, give or take, but it's high time that I got into print.

High-class print, I mean.

Field Notes: January 26, 2010. With today's rejection letter, all 10 journals have turned down my article. I have had close to 200 articles rejected in my professional lifetime, but none of them has been rejected as fast as this one.

My mom, Priscilla, blames it on the economy. I agree.

Anyhow, I was still bummed, and I needed some comfort food. So I called Von Himmelhoff's Pizzeria and ordered a large pie. I was crafty this time: I ordered anchovy, figuring they would screw up like always and send me sausage or pepperoni, or something really good.

The bastards sent me anchovy.

Dr. Ursula Whipple is a freelance animal behaviorist and a contributing editor of Walden Puddle. Since 1990, she has been living in an abandoned cabin outside town, studying the local bear population and being studied by them in turn. Often referred to, by herself and her mother, as the "Jane Goodall of the North Woods," she shares her field notes with us twice monthly, because no scholarly journal will publish them.

PROJECT WINDBREAKER: PART 2
(from The Walden Puddle Chronicles)
174 words

by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative

The tension had become unbearable. Colonel Sanders finally got to the point. For the first time in his 20 years at the Walden Puddle Insane Asylum, he was ready to utter a Top Secret NASA code name that had been burned into his memory long ago.

"Deep in the heart of NASA," he whispered, "we called it ... Project Windbreaker."

Dave Le Barquipe held his breath.

"And it all took place right here. In Walden Puddle. At a secret NASA installation in the woods. They tore the whole thing down in 1985. Only the groundskeeper's cabin remains. The bear lady lives in it now. Dr. Whoopee or whatever."

"What was it?" Dave asked breathlessly, after holding his breath too long.

"Son, you remember how those Apollo boys hopped around like bunny rabbits on the moon?"

"I've seen clips."

"You want to know what really went on up there?"

"Yes."

"It had nothing to do with low gravity. Or with those Jetsons backpacks they wore."

"No?"

"No. Those Jetsons backpacks were for TV. Those boys hopped around on the moon like bunny rabbits because ..."

Yes?"

"Because ..."

"Yes?"

"Because ..."

"Yes?"

"Because ..."

"Yes?"

"Because ..."

Colonel Sanders was milking it again, just like he did at the end of Part One.

"Because ..."

END OF PART 2

PROJECT WINDBREAKER: THE LONG-AWAITED CONCLUSION
(from The Walden Puddle Chronicles)
857 words

by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative

At the end of Part Two, which appears just above, Colonel Sanders had begun to milk the story again. We skip a few pages and move to a later point in the narrative.

"Because ..."

"Yes?"

"Because ..."

"Yes?"

"Because ..."

Dave was on pins and needles. "Please, Colonel Sanders. Tell me."

"Because ..."

"Yes? Yes?"

"Those astronauts hopped around on the moon like bunny rabbits because ..."

"Please, Colonel Sanders."

"... because NASA had learned ..."

"Yes?"

"... how to harness ..."

"Yes?"

"... the awesome power ..."

"Yes?"

"... of the human fart!"

Dave was stunned.

"The research took place at NASA's secret Fart Propulsion Laboratory. Everybody in the world knew about about the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena. Nobody knew anything about the Fart Propulsion Laboratory in Walden Puddle."

Dave remained stunned.

"I was there from Day One," said Colonel Sanders. "I was a test farter."

Dave had never been so stunned in his life.

"After the hippies came up with a way to get the stink out of our space suits, we began our experiments."

"The hippies?"

"The uniform designers. We called them hippies. The space suits were subcontracted. To a little company in Oregon. You know what they call that little company today, son?"

Dave shook his head.

"Nike."

"No!" said Dave.

"The Nike swoosh," said Colonel Sanders, referring to the famous trade symbol, "is nothing more than a high-priced art director's rendering of a human fart."

"No!"

Colonel Sanders motioned Dave closer. "There was a rigorous training program," he whispered. "We had to learn to propel ourselves in all different directions."

"By farting?" Dave whispered.

"By farting," whispered Colonel Sanders. "Up, down, and forward were easy. Left and right caused some problems, but most guys figured it out. The easiest was park. We're both in park right now."

"Of course."

"The bitch was reverse."

"I can imagine."

"The Zen-like control of involuntary muscles ..."

Dave nodded.

"The ultra-precise timing for the passage of gas itself ..."

"Ultra ..."

"Leading to the seemingly impossible feat of farting inward ..."

"Inward?"

"In order to go backward!"

"Incredible!"

"A few boys got hurt, trying to learn reverse. Only one in twenty mastered the entire package."

"One in twenty ..."

"But then there was the final test. And even fewer remained after that one."

"What was it?"

"We called it: The Night of the Mules."

"What happened?" said Dave.

"They gave us sleeping bags. Then they locked us in an airtight chamber with six mules who'd been eating lentils for three months. We were in there for sixteen hours."

"And in the morning?"

"Those who could rise to their feet without assistance made the final cut."

"And you were one of them."

"I'm proud to say I was," said Colonel Sanders. "Then they shipped us to Houston, where we taught fart propulsion to the other astronauts. We were in the background -- anonymous -- all through the glory years. But we did our part."

"Colonel," said Dave. "Why have you waited so long to speak?"

"Last week," said Colonel Sanders, "for no reason, they restricted my television privileges. I was furious. I wanted to lash out."

"Of course."

"You realize what NASA was doing."

"They were siphoning," said Dave. "They kept begging for money, and meanwhile ..."

"And where do you think that money went?"

"I'd love to know."

"So would the American public."

Dave shook his head. More deceit by his own government. The whole thing just plain stunk.

"Not to mention the setback to green technology," said Colonel Sanders. "Indoor wind farms. Low-cost public transportation, with the commuters farting in unison."

"Visionary!"

"But alas ..."

Colonel Sanders fell silent. Dave understood.

"Colonel, I believe you," said Dave. "But no one will ever believe us. Being in a loony bin undermines one's credibility."

"Just a little," said Colonel Sanders.

A nurse came by with a tray of medications. He handed small paper cups filled with pills to Dave and the colonel, and cups of water with which to wash the pills down.

Holding their medications aloft, they toasted each other.

"Here's to truth," said Colonel Sanders.

"Here's to truth," said Dave.

They tossed back their pills.

"I'm sleepy already," said Colonel Sanders. "See you tomorrow, young man. You play Ping-Pong?"

"Yup," said Dave. "See you after lunch."

"Done deal," said the colonel. "It's good to have a friend."

"It surely is."

"Now watch this, young man."

A sound as loud and violent as the tearing of a canvas sail pierced the quiet of the room. Patients and staff looked up, startled. Three seconds later, Colonel Sanders' wheelchair had accelerated to a top-end speed of 35 miles per hour.

As he disappeared down the hall, Colonel Sanders yelled back to Dave, "C'mon, young man. You can do it, too!"

"How?" Dave yelled after him.

"Just blow it out yer ass!"

THE TALK OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
The Walden Puddle Flat Earth Society will hold a billards tournament on Saturday, February 13.

"We chose billiards," said Marcia Whitby, vice president of the society, "because a pool table is both an elegant metaphor and an irrefutable proof of our thesis."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In direct response to the Flat Earth Society's billiards tournament, the Walden Puddle Round Earth Society will hold a half-court basketball tournament on the same day ... Saturday, February 13.

"We chose roundball for obvious reasons," said Ernest Lomax, the society's secretary. "It's a shame that a group like ours even has to exist today. But we're realists. This is Walden Puddle. Our side is playing catch-up."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Walden Puddle Society of Conspiracy Theorists is holding a membership drive. No further details are available.

NEXT POST: Special Valentine's Day Issue, February 14

FEATURING: "And Hold the Lemon," in which a 99-year-old widower who thought he had nothing to live for switches on the TV ... and there she is ... half naked. Rated: PG21.

THE BEAR FACTS: Dr. Whipple has been trading e-mails ... and photos ... with a mysterious Russian bear researcher in Siberia. "Maybe Cupid shot me in the ass," she says. "It feels different from a tranquilizer dart."

BONUS ITEM: The Rev. Alvin Bisonnette dedicates himself to closing down Diamond Lil's Reputed House of Ill-Repute. Eventually.

Editor's Note: No mules were harmed in the making of this post. The mule in that picture up there is just lying down. They do that, you know. You're on Page 2 of Walden Puddle, which begins with Vol. 1, No. 6 ... "A Walden Puddle Christmas Carol." If you missed Posts 1 through 5, beginning in October 2009, you can catch up with them by clicking http://onwaldenpuddle.blogspot.com/