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Riff 040516

image: Lion Guard© Uschi Hering | Dreamstime Stock Photos
image: Lion Guard© Uschi Hering | Dreamstime Stock Photos

“Legend holds that the Golden Lion guards the entry from those who would trespass upon the grounds of the Duke of Wormetshire. There are tales of unexplained deaths in the area near the Golden Lion and the gateway it is said to protect. Pretty scary, yes? If you’ll follow me this way, I’ll lead you to the gardens …”

The tour guide led the rest of the gawkers on towards a lush and borderline overgrown garden. Lawrence stayed behind, staring at the Golden Lion.

“People come up with the craziest stories sometimes.”, Lawrence muttered.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”, replied the Golden Lion.

Lawrence jumped back awkwardly, landing square on his ass. His voice was apparently far more agile than Lawrence as it was nowhere to be found. He just sat, mouth moving silently. The Golden Lion just looked down at him. And burst out laughing.

“Oh I say, that is the funniest thing I have seen since Lord Manfred Wigglesmith passed away in front of me with his trousers around his ankles!”

Lawrence stared up at the metal lion’s head mounted on the gate as it chuckled. Perhaps the local cuisine was not agreeing with him, perhaps it was a bizarre jet lag complication, maybe he had just gone completely starkers. There was not way the cast bronze lion head was laughing.

“What the hell is going on?!?”, Lawrence managed to squeak out as he wrestled to regain control of his voice.

“You made a comment, I posed an observation, you scrambled backwards landing on your bottom, and I found that to be rather hilarious. I think that about sums it up.”

“How the hell are you talking?”

“Quite simple, honestly. I move my mouth in specific ways while contorting my lips and moving my tongue, which give rise to changes in tone resulting in the formation of words and sentences. Just as anyone else speaks.”

“But you are a door knocker!!!”

“Psht! I am most certainly not a ‘door knocker‘. I am a door guardian. There is a clear difference.”

“Whatever! You still should …”

“Whatever? I beg your pardon. Do you see a large ring in my mouth or looping around my head through my ears?”

“Well, no, but …”

“Then it should be quite plain to see that I am by no means a door knocker as I possess no means to knock upon the door.”

“I suppose I see your point, but …”

“You suppose? You suppose?! Well, suppose I simply devour you here and now as the tales say, hmmm? Would that perhaps solidify the fact for you that I am not a ‘door knocker‘?”

“Nononononono!”, Lawrence stammered as he scuttled backwards.

“Just as well, I really can’t devour anyone. Most of the tales are simply rubbish. People have died by this gate, to be sure, but mostly they just died of heart attacks and the like when I spoke to them. You humans certainly are a fragile lot.”

Riff 040116

image: Cat © Jon Hembree | Dreamstime Stock Photos
image: Cat © Jon Hembree | Dreamstime Stock Photos

It happened again. Perfect plan, perfectly executed … up until my minion decided to go all mouse-brained.

I had it all worked out. I was going to corner the world anchovy market and use the profits to fund my undersea base of operations. It was brilliant and fool-proof. Or at least it seemed fool-proof.

The simplicity of it all should have precluded any error. My minion managed to secretly amass a majority stake in almost all the anchovy wholesale companies worldwide. With the majority stake in hand, a series of leveraged buyouts and mergers would consolidate the anchovy wholesale market to a handful of regional companies. With less competition, and in reality no competition as I would have controlled all the anchovy players worldwide, prices for those delectable morsels would skyrocket.

Want anchovies on that pizza? It just became a premium topping. Want a true Caesar salad? Expect to shell out for it. Want to make your cat a really happy cat? Better buy a gold tin of the new golden fish. Profits were guaranteed.

Before I could initiate the cascading acquisitions and buyouts, however, my minion let the proverbial cat out of the bag.

The night everything was set to begin, he “got a hankering” for an anchovy pizza. He blathered on about how he was the anchovy king and how the prices of anchovies were going to skyrocket to the pizza place when he placed his order. When the pizza arrived he started to go on to the delivery girl how an anchovy pizza is a steal right now since he had not yet been able to put any price fixing into place.

And that’s when she busted him. Apparently the Organization bugged the office phones after my minion repeatedly called the former cast members of Firefly and then called the White House and all members of Congress to get them to force Fox to restart production if they were going to start forcing companies to do things they otherwise wouldn’t do anyway. While I did appreciate the sentiment, who doesn’t like a bad good guy, the timing was horrible, and the lack of common sense in using a direct line to make the calls rather than bouncing them off the numerous satellites I have in place to make tracing phone calls next to impossible is … well, honestly, I suppose it was to be expected.

The Organization heard the anchovy rant and mobilized … and delivered a pizza … all in under 30 minutes.

Maybe I should look into the Organization’s staffing procedures and requirements when I look for my next minion. Honestly, it could not be any worse than the last dozen minions I have had. At least they left the pizza when they hauled my minion away.

Riff 033016

image: Suspension Bridge in Sunrise © Anatoly Tiplyashin | Dreamstime Stock Photos
image: Suspension Bridge in Sunrise © Anatoly Tiplyashin | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Times are tough, that is for sure. Even for those of us who have held onto the same position for years can eventually find themselves underemployed due to changes in society or technology.

My job is certainly an example of that.

For ages it was pretty steady, but when technological developments sped up, change started creeping in. I did my best to try to keep up, to adapt. I even went to school, hoping to gain an edge. I am certainly more well spoken now (thanks to Mrs. Bebelbraun for her excellent public speaking class and Mr. Henshaw for his eye opening creative writing class), but it did not really help in the long run.

As technology advanced, people’s lives sped up, which was not beneficial to my line of work. To say that it is a disappointment is an understatement. My father, and his father before him, worked this same job, and now I fear I will be the last to actually hold it. Just the thought of that makes me fear for my child’s future.

This is not to say I do not appreciate technology. There are so many benefits that is has brought, from the internet to the rapid expansion of coffee culture. Fifteen years ago, you would have gotten drip coffee and been happy. The terms latte and cappuccino were not mainstream, certainly not here. I freely admit I am a monster without my morning latte.

But the cost. An age old family business will be coming to a close. Not that the business has had much business in the last decade, and the previous seventy years had seen a stead decline. But such is the cost when technology improves, automobiles move faster and faster, and no one pays any mind to the roadside.

And let’s face it. Trolls are not exactly the most agile of creatures, so when cars sped up, we were losing more than we were stopping. Now the only saving grace is if there is a traffic jam and I can go down an entire line of cars at once. Though with their shatter resistant glass and reinforced frames, folks just are not as intimidated by trolls as they used to be.

Oh how I miss the days of foot traffic and billie goats. Sure the goats were tricky, but I’ve learned a thing or two over the years. Not that it will ultimately do me much good with my current position. I’m going to have to face the hard reality that I will need to look to a change in career.

I wonder if I could get a job as a toll booth attendant? Or maybe work for the IRS?

Riff 032916

image: Chess... (1) © Scarf_andrei | Dreamstime Stock Photos
image: Chess... (1) © Scarf_andrei | Dreamstime Stock Photos

Mr. Wainscott, it is time.

Jeff Wainscott jumped at the sound of the voice behind him and turned to face the shrouded figure. The skeletal hands gave Jeff a moment of pause, but the scythe really made him freeze in his tracks.

Mr. Wainscott? Mr. Wainscott? Oh come on man, I don’t have all day. Plenty of other folks out there dying to make my acquaintance. Get it? Dying to make … oh never mind.

A skeletal hand reached out and slapped Jeff. Jeff replied by uttering a blood curdling scream.

Oh good, you’re not catatonic. Come on, time to be reaped and whatnot. Now where did I put that … could you hold on to this for a moment?

Death handed Jeff the scythe. Jeff held it loosely, using it for balance to keep from fainting straight out as Death rummaged around in his robes. After a moment, he pulled a clipboard with a stack of paper on it as well as a pen.

Ah thank you. I’ll take that and you take these. I need you to fill out this paperwork and sign at the fourteen points marked with the little neon posty things. Once that is squared, we’re off.

“Off where?”

Off to the Cosmos … also known as the Soul Processing and Reclamation Complex. I just call it SPaRC, though I don’t think it appreciates it.

“What? I mean, why?”

If I had to guess, I suppose it considers it to be a little disrespectful. Especially when I call it SPaRCles.

“No, I mean why would I go with you?”

You are Jeffery Cornelius Wainscott, correct?

Jeff nodded his head.

Well, Mr. Wainscott, I must inform you that you are dead. Though I would have thought my appearance would have been somewhat of an obvious hint. You’re really not quick on the uptake, are you?

“Hey! I’m sorry if I am having trouble processing this at the moment. It’s not every day that I come face to face with the Grim Reaper. It may just …”

Man, I hate that nickname! Look at me. Do I look grim? I mean, granted I do wear an abundance of black, but you can ask any of my friends and they will tell you I am a rather chipper individual. Well, my coworkers, really. Subcontractors, actually, but they will still tell you I am by no means grim.

“Sorry, I had no idea.”

No you wouldn’t, would you. No one does. It’s all what they read in fiction and see in movies. ‘Oh, he’s terrifying!’ and ‘Please spare me!’, like I have any say in the matter. I’m really just a Cosmic Repo Agent. At least you didn’t ask me to play a game of chess for more time.

Jeff put the chess board he had picked up back down on his desk. Death looked at Jeff, then the board, then Jeff again.

Really?

“Well, I thought if it worked in the movies, that I could at least give it a shot.”

Damn it! I swear I should have kept Ingmar Bergman around to just play all the games of chess you sorry sods suggest. That would have been a fitting punishment. Anyway, time to finish off the paperwork and get a move on. We’ve got a lot of other stops to make. Oh, and grab that chess board.

“You want to play?”

What? Oh no. But if any of the other folks who are on my list want to play, at least you can play among yourselves.

 

Riff 032816

image: Chinese Ball © Romulus Hossu | Dreamstime Stock Photos

“So I was at the flea market, you know the one out on highway 25, and I found this little table off in the corner, covered with all this weird stuff that was being sold by this old Chinese guy and …”

“Terry, what the hell did you buy now? I swear, winning that cash has been the worst thing for you.”

“What? Why would you say that? I got the new truck, and some other stuff.”

“Yeah, let’s look at that other stuff, Terry. You got the lottery ticket bronzed. Bronzed. It’s not like the text is visible anymore. It just looks like a bronze rectangle on a wood base.”

“OK, that was probably not a good idea, but …”

“You got a water bed.”

“Hey! There is nothing wrong with a water bed!”

“And you filled it with Jello, Terry. Not exactly a water bed now. God forbid it spring a leak.”

“Well, it kinda did. The cat jumped up and tried to sharpen its claws and …”

“Ah, the ‘cat’. It is a freaking puma, Terry. A puma! You have a wild cat living in your house. I’m kinda expecting to find you half eaten one of these days.”

“Tigger is alright. He wouldn’t harm a fly. Well, he would, but he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Right, because he’s such a smart animal. Whatever. It’s still a wild animal, Terry. And then there was the 55 gallon drum of nutella. I don’t even want to know what that was all about.”

“Nutella is good stuff.”

“On toast, sure. It does not explain how a good portion of it ended up on the walls of your living room. And no, I really do not want an explanation. The point is, you have been spending your new found wealth on the stupidest things and I can only imagine what you spent money on at the flea market.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just this.”

“Hmmm. OK, it looks interesting. I mean it’s been years since I myself have owned any marbles, but that is an interesting looking one. How much did you spend on it?”

“$3,000.”

“WHAT?!?”

“It’s not just a marble, Ralph! It holds the essence of Emperor Wang Chung of the Dim Sum era in…”

“Wang Chung? Dim Sum? Really?”

“Yeah! He was the Emperor of …”

“Dim Sum is a variety of tasty dumpling and other small portion foods, not an era in Chinese history. And Wang Chung was a 1980’s rock band, Terry.”

“He was?”

“Terry, you are such an idiot.”