"JEEPERS!" Donna screeched, as she deftly swerved our car sharply left to avoid rear-ending the rusty pick-up truck operated by a gangly cowboy-resembling fella. "OHMIGOD! WHAT HAPPENED?" I yelled, startled, scared, and nearly browned and served. "That-- that-- that jester! What's wrong with these jokers?" I was appalled. She had spoken the triple crown of her swear J-words in one breath! I had never heard such a vulgar besmirching tirade from the pouty lips of my prim and proper mate. I contemplated sobbing. "What did he do?" I asked, fighting back the tears. "The speed limit," she said. "I almost ran over him, the jughead!" "Oh." I was in shock. "Please, I'd like to request my pastor--" "June Bug! Jujube! Jumping Bean! Jumbo Shrimp! Junk Food Junkie! Jurassic Jerk! Junior Miss! Jawless Fish! Jocko! Jethro! Jinx! Jejunectomy! Jive Turkey! -- "Jackass?" I offered. "Oh, gosh, no -- not ladylike," she said, inadvertently calling me "unladylike." "Jackleg! Jack-o'-lantern! Jackanapes!" She muttered, rambling on a bit more. "Now, let us turn to Psalm 12 in our bibles," I solemnly intoned. "Mike, you couldn't quote a Bible verse if your life depended on it." "Nuh uh! Could, too," I said, defensively. "Andeth theeth Lordeth sayeth goeth fortheth andeth multiplyeth, andeth carryeth theeth twoeth." "Jackass," Donna said. We are very much in love.
I glanced out the window, as images of the dust bowl alongside I-40 whipped past. Traveling by automobile gives one a leisurely opportunity to ponder life's mysteries and memories. Only an hour ago, we rolled into Oklahoma. I was napping, so I didn't get to gangsta rap my phat Rodgers and Hammerstein overture medley, "A Very Special Tribute to Curly." (That's the Curly in the movie "Oklahoma!," not The Three Stooges' Curly; although he, too, deserves "A Very Special Tribute," but I'm committed to choreographing "Larry & Moe's Wickedly Wiggy Follicles Follies" first. I might get to stage Stooge Curly's salute in late '99, or early '00, after I produce "The Odd Couple on Crack" with Tony Randall and Jack Klugman standing on an Antarctica ice crevice -- by popular demand. Check your local listings for dates, times, and travel arrangements. Tickets make great stocking stuffers, so order early. Acres and acres of ample free parking. Delightfully air conditioned -- It's cool outside! No one seated after Mr. Klugman is consumed by the abyss. And please hold your applause to the end. Not valid in Puerto Rico or Muncie, Indiana (pop. 78,000). If you can't play sports, be one. There's always room for Jell-O. A, e, i, o, u, and, sometimes, y. Ingrid Bergman does not appear courtesy of David O. Selznick. James Bond 007 will return in "Another Load of Garbage.")
Anyway, I saw no corn "as high as an elephant's eye." In fact, elephants were noticeably scarce in O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A, Oklahoma, too. It was a real joy to be in the state, though, and hard to believe at this time yesterday, we stopped for gas in Chattanooga, Tennessee, speaking of memories.... I approached the convenience store manager. I held up a Dr. Pepper. "Pardon me, boy, is this the Chattanooga choo-choo?" He looked dazed. "No." I pointed to a bag of Ruffles Potato Chips. "Pardon me, boy, is this the Chattanooga choo-choo?" He looked dazed, annoyed. "No." I motioned for him to wait one moment. I walked over to the candy aisle. I selected the large Juicy Fruit gum. I worked my way to the front of the growing line of gas-paying customers. "Excuse me, pardon me, thanks for saving my place," I said to the nice lady behind me. With my gaze downward, I turned to the counter once more. I opened the gum wrapping. I pulled up the end stick, oh, about two-thirds of an inch and showed the fresh kill to the manager. I motioned for him to enjoy the distinctive Wrigley taste. He looked dazed, annoyed, frosty. I turned behind me and presented the gum to each exhausted motorist. No takers. They looked dazed, annoyed, frosty, sullen. I thought it would be a shame to waste this stick of gum, expertly positioned about two-thirds of an inch out of the pack, so I took it and removed the crisp paper. I curled the unleashed freshness onto my tongue and soon recognized the deep, rich flavor, ever so juicy and, remarkably, fruity. I smacked the gum for about five beats, looked at the yellow Juicy Fruit package in my palm, five beats. I raised my head, peered out the window, and smacked five beats more. I slowly turned my eyes around to meet the manager's face, one, two, three, four, five. I nodded at the remaining gum, smacked five beats. "Pardon me, boy, is this the Chattanooga chew-chew?" The customers erupted, hurling verbal uglies, none of which started with "J." "GET! OUT!" screamed the manager, dazed, annoyed, frosty, sullen, berserk, as the helpful mob eagerly punted me through the exit. They adore me in Chattanooga. And they always give me free gas to boot. About Your Guide: By nightfall, Donna and Mike Durrett had driven 680 miles through Texas, into New Mexico, for a two-day total near 1300 miles. Their secret for enduring vehicular tedium is to plan a major sightseeing stop daily, such as Canyon de Chelly, Meteor Crater, and the Grand Canyon, coming up. At today's destination in Yukon, Oklahoma, they entered, and embraced, inside the majesty that is Garth Brooks' Wal-Mart. Grand Canyon photo ©1998 by
Stan Malone |
After two more days of
frenzied highway driving, Mrs. the Guide -- you may call her "Donna" -- begins
her unusual adventure into the Grand Canyon. Here she pauses to soak up the splendor of
nature and consider moving on to cursing K-words, like "Klutz!,"
"Kleptomaniac!" and "Knavish Knock-kneed Knickknack Kook!"
Older readers are
cautioned: this man is not the crumpled, paunchy, down-on-his-luck Speedy Alka-Seltzer.
Oh, what a relief that is! Your dashing Guide (in a few more days) strikes a flattering
pose as he trailblazes into the wilderness to bring the virginal Grand Canyon its first
wacky hat, rubber chicken (not pictured), and fake nose-and-eyeglasses set (pictured).
He's keeping the Gerber baby bib.
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