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This week's episode:A SPECIAL THANKSGIVING EDITION: HAIL, HAIL THE GANGS ALL UNCLEAR!
“Is it ready yet Otis?”
“No.”
“Man, why is it taking so dang long?”
“Look Smog Boy, you’ve got to give me a break here. This is the first time I’ve tried cooking a Thanksgiving turkey and it does take a while.”
“But can’t you like put it in the toaster to hurry it up? What if it isn’t ready on time? We could be in big trouble when everybody shows up and the food ain’t ready.”
“Yep that could be a problem, but it is only nine in the morning. I think we’ve got plenty of time before two p.m. to make sure the turkey and other food is prepared.”
“TWO P.M.! Are you kidding? We aren’t going to eat until that late? Gosh I’ll starve to death if I have to wait that long.”
“What do you mean you’ll starve to death? We are only talking a few hours.”
“But man, two p.m. is after midnight ain’t it? God who is going to come that late?”
“Smog Boy, two p.m. isn’t after midnight. That’s two a.m.. Two p.m. is afternoon.”
“It is? Are you sure? I mean really, really, really no fooling sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. What’s the big deal? You’re freaking out like there is no two p.m.?”
“I was just getting worried because what if it got zapped during that daylight savings thing? You know, when they take hours out of a day away without asking permission. You could just lose two p.m. and never know it. Then where would we be?”
“Lose two p.m. and not even know it? Oh jeez, don’t tell me you’ve been talking to our neighbor Arvin again? I swear ever since he moved in last month you’ve been coming up with the most incredibly wacky stuff. I mean wacky, even for you.”
“Hey, it’s not wacky. Arvin makes perfect sense too me. I don’t know why you are always saying he says junk that isn’t true.”
“We are talking about a guy that claims his garbage disposal is a pet, right? One that he takes for walks and has does tricks and other impossible things like that?”
“He don’t claim it doesn’t impossible stuff. I saw it do a trick myself.”
“Oh yeah, what?”
“It played dead.”
“Oh brother. Yeah, like it would be so hard to do that for just about anything. Er, not that I really care, but what did Arvin say that made you think that two p.m. would somehow end up disappearing during daylight savings time?”
“If you’re going to take that kind of attitude, Otis, I’m not sure I want to tell you.”
“Oh go ahead, Smog Boy. Anything that will keep you from asking when the turkey is going to be done again is worth listening to at this point.”
“Alright, but you sure know how to make a guy never want to say anything again.”
“Somehow old buddy, I have a feeling there is no way I could ever be that lucky when it comes to some of your pals or yourself at times.”
“Thanks a lot. But despite that I’m going to tell you anyway. See, now Arvin was explaining how this dude named Father Time lives in city called the International Date Line. And that sometimes he gets pissed off because of the way some clock repair people that live in a place called Greenwich goof up on watch repairs. So every once and a while he just takes away an hour for spite so their watches will be off. When he does that we end up with a broken full moon, which is why sometimes only part of it is there.”
“Yep, it worked.”
“It did? Then you believe what Arvin said?”
“Nope, but it kept you from asking about the turkey for a whole two minutes.”
“Oh man, just for that Otis, I ain’t going to tell you about my surprise.”
“Gosh, with you Smog Boy that could be either good or bad, but I think I’ll survive.”
“Well if you put it that way I just going to tell you after all.”
“Shoot.”
“I wanted this to be an extra special Thanksgiving so I made up my own stuffing.”
“You did? But I already put stuffing in the turkey.”
“And I replaced it with mine.”
“Hmmm. That could be okay, only what was in your stuffing?”
“Only the most tasty stuff like chocolate, jelly beans and gummy bears”
“Oh jeez, this is going to be wonderful. What’s that smell? It’s like burning plastic.”
“I don’t know.”
“Ah Smog Boy this might be a dumb question to ask — what am I saying, when it comes to asking you questions there is no such thing. This stuffing, I hope you took the jelly beans and gummy bears out of their plastic bags before putting in it the turkey?”
“Was that important?”
“Only if you want to eat it,” I say, before rushing to remove the turkey from the oven.
“Wow Otis is it done?”
“More like done for,” I say after seeing the melted plastic inside the turkey, which I know there is no way to clean up. “Well, thanks a lot old buddy. That’s one turkey we can forget about eating.”
“Man, you mean you just were fooling about having turkey for Thanksgiving?”
“I wasn’t kidding, Smog Boy, but your stroke of genius by putting plastic inside the turkey was definitely not helping. Now we can’t eat the thing. Well, I think I have just enough time to go to the store and get another turkey and get it ready and still have dinner at 2 p.m.. Only please, don’t try to help again. Jeez, I better put it this way, I’m going to get us another turkey and this time you are not under any circumstance to put ANYTHING and I mean anything inside as stuffing. Now do you got that?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, now you just go into the living room, sit down and watch some cartoons or whatever and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Sure. I can do that.”
“Whew!” I say about an hour later having returned from the grocery store managing to fight the holiday crowds of last minute shoppers and returned home to once again try and prepare our Thanksgiving feast.
Naturally I did avoid volunteering to the grocery store clerk the real explanation about why I was buying a second turkey since she happened to have waited on me when I purchased the first one. Because my buddy is a jelly bean freak and an idiot on some subjects was just a little more information that I figured she needed to know. Besides it sounded so much more impressive to claim that in a moment of uncontrollable charity we had decided to feed several folks who had no place to go for Thanksgiving.
Of course that wasn’t a complete fabrication. There are a few grimefighters that will be coming over because they didn’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving. And with what STINK pays I knew they would prefer joining us to trying to salvage something tasty from the dumpster where the pizza place tosses its leftover pizzas.
Obviously I didn’t mind volunteering to host such a feast. I just hope they don’t get together and compare notes. Maybe I should feel guilty that I asked them to help cover the cost. Okay, I sort of exaggerated the expense, but I think a hundred bucks per person is — er, I don’t think I’ll dwell on that part. Neither will I try thinking too much about making them join an organ donor program or selling blood as being too unreasonable to cover the cost anymore than making them visit that pawn shop to hock what few meager possessions they own.
After all this season is about gathering together and enjoying a nice meal while giving thanks for all the good things the Lord has blessed us with and also the warm fellowship of others. So I’m sure when they leave with full stomachs and maybe a smile or two that they will remember that moment to keep them warm. That will be extra important since they will have to go home to places now lacking heaters or other items they had to part with to cover my fee to them to join our little holiday confab.
I know in time that they will get those things out of hock again. Maybe not before the end of winter, but heck I’m sure going without a jacket or furnace isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a person. That is as long as it is happening to somebody else.
And later while I’m sampling a few of those gourmet goodies I bought with the profits from the Thanksgiving dinner I’ll most likely stop and toast my fellow grimefighters as a token of remembrance. Oh that’s about all the token remembering I’m willing to agree to. I mean, this peace on earth and goodwill towards man stuff is a wonderful sentiment, but I see no reason to be fanatic about it.
Plus, I do feel I’m entitled to a little compensation for the fact that thanks to my buddy we ended up with no place to go for Thanksgiving this year. Like too many of our co-workers, our families live too far away for us to be with them for most holidays. So we normally depended upon visiting a friend or two for such occasions.
But you know it sort of takes the joy out of the occasions when you knock on a person’s door and you can hear them saying while it is closed, “Oh no, it’s those moochers again.” I tell you that’s enough to nearly stymie my zest for showing up uninvited to a friend of a friend of a friend who knows somebody that knows somebody’s house.
Besides, after Smog Boy and I show up and have graced them with our presence they often get so darn touchy just because we have five or six helpings of each item. And then try when we try to leave with whatever goodies we can stuff in the shopping bags we bring they really get upset. Man, it isn’t like we are thoughtful. After all we do bring our own aluminum foil. Some people just have such funny notions of real hospitality.
Now there was a time that my buddy and I had plenty of better options in terms of Thanksgiving and didn’t have to resort to such extreme forms of socializing. We could always depend on kindly old Granny Potts for Thanksgiving Dinner each year. But the poor soul is just getting on in years and sadly getting so hopelessly confused about such things as holidays.
Last year was a perfect example. We knocked on her door, expecting to savor a luscious dinner of turkey and all the trimmings. Instead, she thought it was the Fourth of July and wanted to celebrate by firing off fireworks. That might have been entertaining, but her idea of fireworks sort of lost something in the process. I’m sorry, but no matter how she tried to light that “goldfish” before tossing it in the air didn’t work for me.
So this year we certainly opted not to visit her again, which was a good thing because the note on her door said she was off to see the Wizard. I hate to think where she will end up, but I’m not planning on joining her.
As for our other options, well, there was always Truly Grimey’s. But having turkey stuffed with sawdust and a few other things that I wouldn’t even want to try and think about isn’t my idea of a decent dinner. Plus she always wants to be sure we have double portions of her special pumpkin pie. I don’t know, but using lard, syrup covered ants and pine needles as filling for a hallowed out pumpkin that she doesn’t even cook sort of doesn’t appeal as a dessert for me.
If we were really desperate I suppose we could have gone over to Dr. Hemoglobin’s. Not that he would have most likely opened the door. That big sign on his door declaring, “No soliciting or begging allowed and that especially applies to OTIS AND SMOG BOY” kind of ruins the urge to knock on his door.
It doesn’t stop my buddy though. At least until Dr. Hemoglobin’s guard dogs came out to play with him. I’m glad I was able to stop them before they tried to bury him while he was left unconscious from they decision he should be treated like a bone. Hey, getting a transfusion every once and a while probably does cut down on the problem of risking high blood pressure.
Anyway, what with our other options exhausted (not to mention those people who insisted upon moving after our last visit and didn’t give us their new address or phone number) we elected this year to give a shot at fixing dinner ourselves. Actually I should say I’m doing most of the cooking and Smog Boy is sort of helping. I just hope he doesn’t elect to give me anymore of the kind of help that requires another trip to the to replace one more of his OOPS!
“Good, glad that is done! The replacement turkey is cooking fine and maybe now we can get on with the rest of the meal. Hmmm, now where did that bag of potatoes go? I know it was around here a while okay. Smog Boy?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you happen to see that bag of potatoes that was on the counter earlier?”
“Yep.”
“Any idea where it went?”
“Yep.”
“Well would you mine telling me?”
“Nope.”
“Er I’m waiting!”
“Oh yeah. Ah, I think the ants took it.”
“The ants? What do you mean the ants? We don’t have any ants in the kitchen.”
“Oh oh, then I guess it wasn’t ants. It was ah, ah, bears. Yeah that’s it, some bears came by and stole them. I put up a heck of fight, but they were just too strong.”
“Smog Boy,” I say while standing in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “Why don’t you stop this silliness and tell me what really happen to the potatoes?”
“Oh alright. Honest Otis, I was just trying to help.”
“I’m sure you were. Now what happen to the potatoes?”
“Well I was going to surprise you and turn them into mashed potatoes before you got back. You know to save you the time of mashing them.”
“That was thoughtful. Only I don’t see any mashed potatoes or any potatoes at all for that matter. So what happen?”
“You know I never realized that potatoes can be so darn uncooperative about being mashed. I mean it ain’t exactly like they got much better to do than get used for mashed potatoes or French Fries.”
“And?”
“And so I tried to mashed them, but you know how tough it is to mash them using a nutcracker? That’s all I had that I thought would work.”
“That still doesn’t explain where the potatoes are now?”
“That’s the thing Otis, I did get them finally mashed. Well sort of.”
“Meaning?”
“I guess rather than try to explain it I better show you.”
I follow Smog Boy out into the garage. There on the workbench is the vice with part of a potato in it. And on the bench and floor I can see what remains of the potatoes that my buddy obviously tried to mash in the vice. “You mean you used up the whole bag in that vice and didn’t even get one decent mashed potato out of this mess?”
“Well — gee Otis you always say that if at first you don’t succeed try, try again.”
“Yeah, I remember telling you that. Only I didn’t mean it to apply to trying to mash potatoes in a vice. Besides, that isn’t how you make mashed potatoes.”
“It ain’t?”
“Nope. You’re suppose to boil them to make them soft and then they mash easy.”
“You boil them? But don’t that make the vice rust if you put it in boiling water?”
“You don’t put the vice in water, Smog Boy, you put the potatoes and then — oh jeez, never mind. Just clean up this mess and I’ll go to the store for more potatoes.”
“Okay. And when you get back you can show me what pot you want me to put the vice in so you can boil it.”
I just roll my eyes and head back towards the kitchen. Now it is off to the grocery store for what I hope is my last trip of the day. I can only hope my buddy doesn’t get any other ideas about helping before I get back.
“Smog Boy?” I ask as I return home after my latest trip to the grocery store. I guess getting to know the checker on a first name basis from making so many frequent trips to the store is a good thing. I just hope I don’t run out of excuses for why I keep coming back to buy more of the same types of Thanksgiving food.
“Yeah, Otis?”
“I take it that you finished cleaning up the garage and didn’t mess with any more of the food in the kitchen?”
“Nope ah I mean, yeah I finished. And nope I didn’t mess with anymore food of the kitchen. Just been sitting here watching television and enjoying myself.”
“Glad to hear it. Now let me get back to getting our dinner ready,” I reply, heading back into the kitchen. As I get the potatoes in the pot and fill it with water I feel a small sense of progress to the day. Not enough to jump up and down about, just enough to feel our Thanksgiving might finally be proceeding on schedule.
I open the refrigerator door and look for the two heads of cauliflower I had in there as part of our planned meal. “Hmmm, strange, they’re gone. Hey, Smog Boy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you recall seeing those two heads of cauliflower that were in the refrigerator?”
“Nope. Er, what did they look like?”
“What did they look like? They were white, kind of round and sort of lumpy on top. I know you’ve seen them. In fact I remember telling you what they were when I brought them home from store you asked me about them. Don’t you remember?”
“Uh-oh. Those were the things on the bottom shelf huh?”
“Yeah, that was them. And do you know where they are now?”
“Ah, ah, gosh Otis, do we really need them for the dinner?”
“Smog Boy what happen to the cauliflower?”
“Man, was it my fault you didn’t put a label on them or something? I went in to get a drink of water from the refrigerator and saw them sitting on the bottom shelf and I just forgot about what you said about them being for dinner. Honestly they just looked so ugly that I thought they were spoiled so I ended up throwing them out.”
“You did WHAT?”
“Oh now Otis. Don’t get all pissed off. I’ll go to the store this time. You just hang in the kitchen. How does that sound?”
“Fine. Fine. And please just bring back two heads of cauliflower,” I reply, walking into the living room and giving him the money to buy the vegetables.
About a half an hour later he returns home carrying a bag. He walks into the kitchen and puts it on the counter. I look inside at the contents. “What is this suppose to be?”
“What you sent me to buy.” ’
“I sent you to buy cauliflower. These are marshmallows.”
“Well they’re white. That part I was able to remember.”
“You know, old buddy, you sure know how to remember only what you want to.”
“Always glad to know I’m helping.”
“Right. Now while you’re at it perhaps you can explain what happen to the can of cranberries that was in the cupboard and the bag of rolls that are also missing?”
“Can of Cranberries? Is that what was in that can?”
“Yeah, which is why it said Cranberries on the front. What did you think it was?”
“I thought it was jam. You know I got hungry while you were at the store the other time and I found the peanut butter, but couldn’t find the jam. So I opened up that can. to make me a nice sandwich. Only it tasted funny. I thought that maybe the bread was bad. You know I used up a whole loaf of bread and those rolls before figuring out that it was the jam in that canned that tasted funny and not the bread. Well live and learn.”
“Oh yeah, live and learn alright. Well looks like I’m going to have to make one more trip to the store. So you just go back into the living room and please don’t touch anything in the kitchen until I get back. I can’t afford to keep replacing stuff forever you know.”
“Sure, sure. I can do that.”
The trip to the grocery store is one more journey I could have lived without today. Not only is that checker beginning to look at me funny, but also the guy who stocks the vegetable bins. Now I don’t want to say he has openly accused me of doing anything questionable, but he did eye me carefully while I was examining the cauliflower.
“At last!” I say, reaching home with what I desperately hope is my last and final shopping trip to the grocery store for this Thanksgiving. Now to try and make a hasty preparation of the rest of the meal before out guests arrive.
Man I couldn’t believe how insane this whole process has gotten just to fix one holiday meal. One those television cooking shows they always make it look so easy. But none of them has a helper named Smog Boy who is best at helping by staying out of the way.
“What that?” I say while checking on the turkey. “The oven isn’t even hot. What the heck is going on? Oh Smog Boy, can you come in here for a moment?”
“Sure. What’s up Otis?”
“Can you explain to me why the oven isn’t on?”
“Probably because I turned it off.”
“You did? Why?”
“Because of what they were saying on television.”
“Which was?”
“They were talking about how it was dangerous to put stuff that was metal in an oven. And you put that turkey in a metal tray so I after they said that I decided I wouldn’t take any chances so I turned the oven off. Wasn’t that a good thing?”
“Not putting metal in an oven? Weren’t they talking about microwave ovens?”
“Hey, that’s what they said. Isn’t it the same thing?”
“Not even close. Well, looks like the turkey won’t be done on time. As for the rest of the stuff, jeez, this isn’t turning out to be anywhere near as easy as I hoped.”
“I already fixed that turkey, er that is I think I can ah, ah —”
“Smog Boy?”
“Gosh Otis, I didn’t want the food not to get cooked so I sort of cooked it myself. Then I just put it back into the oven to surprise you that it would be done.”
“I see. And how did you try to cook it?”
“Like the way you start the barbecue.”
“Oh no. Don’t tell me you put lighter fluid on everything and put a match to it.”
“Well. I couldn’t find that lighter fluid. But I remembered how paint thinner burns good, so I ah — man, I’ll tell you the potatoes lit up so nearly as good as did the turkey. You would have been proud of the way they cooked up.”
“Right.” Suddenly the phone rings. “Hello? Oh hi, Agent Double O Poopy. Will dinner be on time? Ah, ah, sure.” I reply before hanging up the food.
“Cool, dinner is going to be on time. Then that means my cooking worked huh?”
“Not exactly. Look Smog Boy. Do me a favor and toss out all the stuff you cooked.”
“But if I do that, what are we going to eat?”
“Let me handle that part,” I reply as I rush out the door.
“Oh man, that was the best tasting turkey I ever ate,” one of the grimefighters replies as he rubs his tummy a hour later.
The other grimefighters who have joined us all nod in agreement. Then as I pass out slices of pumpkin pie, then eagerly enjoy dessert.
My buddy is quick to point out how much effort he made to help get the meal ready. And quickly after dinner, all our guests leave and take most of the leftovers.
“Otis, everything turned out okay huh?”
“Yeah, it turned out okay.”
“Good. Happy Thanksgiving Otis.”
“Same to you, Smog Boy,” I say, while sitting and staring at the receipts from the grocery store for all the extra groceries I had to buy. Added to the coast was the complete turkey dinner for ten that I ended up paying a small fortune for from that overpriced take out place after my buddy managed to sabotage our original meal.
Somehow my glorious concept of being grateful during the holiday by having profited at my co-workers expense lost all it’s meaning thanks to my buddy’s efforts. Or perhaps, he just served a more divine purpose of making sure that my pocket was the only thing that didn’t get fat on this day of Thanksgiving.
PHILO MILO BUTTERCREAM
penman_1@hotmail.com
(THAT'S HIS WRITER'S NAME.) Drop by and check it out if you dare!)
penman_1@hotmail.com
