AND HOLD THE LEMON: THE TART CONCLUSION

February 26, 2010, Vol. 1., N0. 10

SPECIAL VALENTINE'S DAY ISSUE ... continued!


CONTENTS
(in scroll-down order)

THE BEARS OF WALDEN PUDDLE
by Dr. Ursula Whipple
"Looks don't matter much," says Dr. Whipple. "It's what's inside a person that counts." Then she gets a good look at Sergei of Kamchatka.

AND HOLD THE LEMON: THE TART CONCLUSION
by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative
Ninety-nine-year-old Lucas Mayfield finds fulfilling work in a bordello. That's Phase One of the plan.

THE TALK OF WALDEN PUDDLE
reportage from the Agreeable Dougnhut Cafe
He's only 8 years old, but Lucas Mayfield's great great grandson Jeffrey has a pretty good job himelf.


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

by Dr. Ursula Whipple

Field Notes: February 21, 2010. I got a call from the cops at 2 a.m. last night. Louie busted down the door at the Ming Lee Wok. I had to drive over and shoot him in the ass with two tranquilizer darts. One in each cheek. Louie is a big guy. When we winched Louie onto my flatbed, he was completely covered in Moo Shu Duck. That must be his favorite.

While they were there, the cops went down to the basement and confiscated 35 crates of firecrackers and Roman candles ... so Fourth of July will suck this year. Louie always causes trouble.

While the cops were in the basement, I confiscated 40 shrimp rolls, 17 orders of Pork Lo Mein, and a fortune cookie. I need a lot of comfort food these days. Guess what that fortune cookie said. It said: "Your heart too tender, like sprinkle with MSG."

On the back side, it said: "We no use MSG at Ming Lee Wok."

That fortune cookie was sure on the money. My heart is too tender. I found a photo of Sergei on the Internet. There is no nice way to put this: Sergei is a hog. I am no raving beauty, but I deserve better than that, and I told him so in an e-mail.

"You had no right to trick me into thinking you looked like Russell Crowe," I wrote, "when the truth is, you look like bear poop!"

He writes back: "Bear poop is my academic specialty! How dare you insult the bear poop!"

And I write: "You're right. Comparing you to bear poop is an insult to bear poop!"

And he writes: "Comparing you to a zit is an insult to zits!"

And I write: "You lying closet-Commie bastard!"

And he writes: "You superficial capitalist bitch!"

And we sort of left it at that.

Dr. Ursula Whipple is a freelance animal behaviorist and a contributing editor of Walden Puddle. Since 1990, she has lived in an abandoned cabin near 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.


AND HOLD THE LEMON: THE
TART CONCLUSION
(from The Walden Puddle Chronicles)
1146 words

by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative

Bob and Marsha couldn't believe it.

"Grampums," said Bob, "did we just hear you say ..."

"That's right. I need a sex life."

"But Grampums," said Marsha, "it just doesn't seem ..."

"What? It doesn't seem right? For a 99-year-old man to have one last dance between the sheets before he drops?"

Marsha fingered the tablecloth. Bob filled in the awkward silence.

"We were just worried about your heart, Grampums. It might be too much."

"Bullshit," said Lucas.


The next day was Sunday. Lucas asked his great great grandson, Jeffrey, to pretend he was sick and skip church. Although he was only 8, Jeffrey was an excellent person to ask for advice. He was a very precocious child.

Using algorithms, probability theory, profiling, and a quick snoop through his mother's handbag, Jeffrey had figured out the Parental Block on the TV, and he watched X-rated movies often. He charged them to other households in Walden Puddle, having hacked into their cable TV accounts.

"My little master criminal," Lucas said to him fondly. "What did you watch last night?"

"Pernilla's Naughty Sauna Party," said Jeffrey. "Scandinavian. Still the gold standard in skin flicks."

After Bob and Marsha left for church, Lucas and Jeffrey sat down for a planning session. "I have to be blunt, Lucas," said Jeffrey. "You're screwed." Jeffrey always addressed his great great grandfather as Lucas. That was fine with Lucas. He preferred it.

"How so?" said Lucas.

"You're very old. You have no savings. Your only income is Social Security, at $794 a month ..."

"How'd you know that?"

"I know a lot of things," said Jeffrey. "You don't have a pot to piss in, Lucas. Women notice that. Women don't like it when men don't have money to spend on them."

"Eleanor married me," said Lucas defensively.

"She was young and silly," said Jeffrey. "She mistakenly thought you had potential. Most women marry guys not for what they are ... but for what they think they can mold them into."

"I see," said Lucas.

"We have to get you a job," said Jeffrey, "so you can afford to date, and to meet women in person. The Internet sucks for meeting sex partners. Everybody lies about themselves. Trust me."

"What kind of work can I do?"

"Let's find out." Jeffrey dialed his BlackBerry. "Hi, Warden. How's the priz biz?" he said. "Listen. My friend Lucas needs an easy job ... and an easy chick. You got a career track for him?"

Lucas leaned forward.

"Uh-huh," said Jeffrey. "Well if your nephew moves on to white-collar work, call me. See you for drinks Wednesday. Soon as my parents leave for Ethical Culture."

"What was the job?"

"Girls House of Detention. Picking up towels and dainties. Refereeing pillow fights. Videotaping catfights. Sorry, the job's taken."

"What next?" said Lucas, crestfallen. It sounded like a great job.

"Lil owes me," said Jeffrey. He dialed again. "Hi, darlin'," he said. "I have to call in a coupon ..."

Twenty minutes later, Lucas was riding in the back of a chauffered Mercedes, on the way to his new job as greeter, sandwich chef, and mascot at Diamond Lil's Reputed House of Ill-Repute.

Back home, Jeffrey crawled under the covers and applied a heating pad to his forehead. When Bob and Marsha returned from First Unitarian, they checked on him. "Oh, dear World-Soul!" exclaimed Marsha as she touched Jeffrey's artificially superheated brow. "He's burning up!"

"I'll be okay tomorrow, Mom," whispered Jeffrey. "I won't miss school. I promise."

"Our brave little scholar," said Bob.

"Could you bring me some warm milk?" said Jeffrey. "And could you set the TV for the Disney Channel? My little fingers are too weak right now."

As they left Jeffrey's room, Bob and Marsha exchanged misty-eyed glances.

"I don't know how we did it," said Marsha, "but we raised the perfect child."


At Diamond Lil's, Lucas was an instant hit with Lil and her 12 waitresses. They fussed over him. They baked cookies for him. They knitted warm socks for him when they weren't, as they put it, "waiting tables."

At first, Lucas was in heaven. But after a few weeks, the good feeling faded. He confided to Jeffrey, "They pamper me like a Pomeranian. I watch them walk around in negligees or less. But the fact remains ... I ... ain't ... got ... to first base!"

Jeffrey thought about it for two seconds. There were few things in the world Jeffrey couldn't figure out in two seconds. "Here's what you do, Lucas," and he whispered in Lucas' ear.

The next day, Lucas waited until after the lunchtime rush. Afternoons were a quiet time at Diamond Lil's, a time for sober reflection and bookkeeping. At precisely 2:24 p.m., Lucas fell to the floor of the greeting parlor, clutching his chest.

"Oh, my God!" Diamond Lil exclaimed as she and her waitresses rushed to him. They didn't know Lucas was faking a heart attack ... on Jeffrey's instructions.

Lucas opened one eye. "Do any of you ladies know CPR?" he asked weakly. "The Kiss of Life?"

"No," said Diamond Lil. "But Brandy here is a good kisser. Brandy! Get in there!"

Brandy leaned over and gave Lucas a long, steamy kiss.

"Thank you, Brandy," said Lucas, "but I'm still fading."

Over the next 20 minutes, Lucas received the Kiss of Life repeatedly from each of Diamond Lil's waitresses. When Diamond Lil knelt down to give him the Kiss of Life, Lucas offered his hand. "The Handshake of Life'll be fine, Lil," he said.

He also noticed a funny feeling in his chest. The funny feeling was ventricular fibrillation. Now Lucas was dying. The excitement had been too much.

On a lush Persian rug in a cozy little country whorehouse, the lights went out for Lucas Mayfield.

At that point, Lucas was surprised to learn ... contrary to everything the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker had ever preached at First Unitarian ... that he had a soul after all.

Lucas' soul opened its eyes. He saw Eleanor. She looked very annoyed.

"If you had remarried, I wouldn't mind," she said. "But soon's I croak, you go play Stage-Door Johnny at Diamond Lil's?"

"I uhm ... I uhm ... well ... you see ..." Lucas explained.

"You're in trouble, mister," said Eleanor. "Big trouble."

"I have to go now," said Lucas. His soul quickly departed the afterlife and slipped back into his body. He opened his eyes.

"He's not dead!" exclaimed Diamond Lil.

"Hallelujah! I'm not dead!" echoed Lucas. He sized up everything that had just happened to him. I'd better mend my ways, he thought, or Eleanor will kill me next time.

Diamond Lil's waitresses helped Lucas onto a red velvet sofa. "Can I get you something, sweetie?" said Diamond Lil. "Some tea? Some schnapps? Anything you want."

"Anything?" said Lucas.

"Anything."

Lucas thought about it hard. What would Jeffrey do? What would Jeffrey do?

"Thirty seconds with Fifi," he said.



THE TALK OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
We caught up with young Jeffrey Mayfield in back of the Agreeable Doughnut, where he was taking bets from children and adults on college and NBA basketball.

"I'll give you a winner tonight," he told us, "as long as you write that I'm here every day after school. Take Dartmouth. All five Princeton starters will have food poisoning by six o'clock. They just don't know it yet."

We thanked him.

"You need some weed?" he asked as we were leaving.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Rev. Alvin Bisonnette, pastor of the Walden Puddle Church of the Definitely Saved, has written a family-oriented version of Oedipus Rex.

"I found out the heathen at First Unitarian were rehearsing that abomination in their drama club. Did you know the story is about a boy ... making out ... with his mom?"

Or something along those lines, we said.

"I never knew that," said Rev. Bisonnette. "I though it was about a cat named Eddie and a dog named Rex!"

And he's revised the script?

"I have," said Rev. Bisonnette. "My version actually is about a cat named Eddie and a dog named Rex. They travel around the country in a sanctified RV driven by an angel, and if they meet a sinner they attack him and maul him, but if you're saved, they lick your hand and do tricks for you. I call it Oedipus Rex for Christians."

Quite a change in the plot line, we observed.

"Miss Ettie Crawford, our choir director, is turning it into a musical. We have to find us a singing dog now. A tenor. The Lord will provide."


NEXT POST: March 15, 2010

The Special Ides of March Issue

FEATURING: In Copious Falls, they call March 15 the Ides of March. In Walden Puddle, they think that's a typo. Either way, it's a day for settling old scores in "The Midnight Raiders."

THE BEAR FACTS: Like mature adults, which neither of them is, Dr. Whipple and Sergei of Kamchatka almost calm down and almost agree they can still be pen-pals.

BONUS ITEM: The Walden Puddle Gummy Bears, the worst minor-league hockey team in North America, lose their coach and their goalie, both of whom are returning to Finland demoralized.


Editor's Note: You're on Page 2 of Walden Puddle, which begins with the issue of December 26, 2009. If you missed Page 1, which covers October through early December 2009, you can view it by clicking http://onwaldenpuddle.blogspot.com/

All printed matter in this issue of Walden Puddle copyright © 2010 Walden Puddle Gift Shop. All rights reserved. All photographs reproduced with permission. Original artwork courtesy of Aytsan.