Dodo Eggs

Eugene is in DodoEggs.com’s backroom digging through the achieved files. Open boxes sit haphazardly around his bent figure with half of their contents sticking up or sitting sideways in their folders. He pops off another cardboard lid and sends it spinning across the narrow room. The difficult task of shuffling papers and dropping boxes has him breathing a bit hard.

“Where are they!? I’m desperate here!”

His deadline is coming and Eugene his running a blank on decent ideas. The writer knew that the ad revenues for his last few posts have been disappointing. The problem is compounded now that the only sponsors willing to buy ad space were the Midas Pen Company (Want to write better than this guy? Buy a Midas!) and the Letter F ( The letter F, Good for More Than Profanity!)

Eugene passes a little gas but there’s no one around.

Finally, he finds the box he was looking for. Its edges are bent and there are several words written like bad graffiti then crossed out with the broad strokes of a permanent marker. The latest markings read, “LEFT OVER IDEAS – POSSIBIBLY CONTAGEOUS!”

This time the lid is pulled off a bit faster and was flung aside without looking. There were no dividers. The box was filled with tattered bits of paper many torn or stained by prune juice. It looked as if the box was filled with nothing but trash!

The first crumpled sheet Eugene picked up read, “You can tell how useful a man is by the number of keys he has on his key chain…especially if he works in a penitentiary.”

Eugene wads the sheet and tossed it aside. “No, no, that’s no good! Why is this even in here?”

Another read, “Why is it called plastic surgery when they use silicon? The only plastic babe around here is Barbie.”

“Ach! I can’t write about that!”

On the third, Eugene read, “Start a radio commercial with a few seconds of static. It pulls a day dreaming driver out of his stupor but doesn’t give him time to switch the station.”

A shake of the head and it’s on to the next sheet. This isn’t working out.

“If science fiction had any basis in reality than ‘Reversing the Polarity’ would work on any misbehaving electronics. It works in the movies! Why can’t there be a RP switch on everything we buy? If it doesn’t work, just hit the switch and you’re off!”

Then there was, “Have you heard the joke about the Polish dustpan and the Jewish broom? It’s the joke that’s sweeping the nation!”

One of the larger sheets told the story of a boy whose mother fed him a baked combination of macaroni and cheese, fish sticks, and Vienna sausages every night. Her goal was to teach the boy not to be picky. Instead, the boy learned to filter feed nutrients from the air and toast insects.

“That’s it.” Eugene walked away from the box in disgust. “I’ll just write that piece on selling jelly beans in smaller bags by flavor and allowing buyers to create their own preferred medley. It can’t be any worse than this stuff.”

I couldn’t agree more.

I’m perched over a wide circular watering trough watching bugs dance over the surface like figure skaters.  The corners of four pastures converge here and the tops of the fences span the water’s dark surface.  It isn’t much of a seat.

The water isn’t dirty but it is cold enough to make you regret falling.  A thick moss grows along the bottom and sides of the well fed trough stealing all the light.  It’s impossible to see anything more than a couple of inches below the surface.

I grit my teeth and reach in the frigid pool.  My hand immediately comes into contact with the moss’s slimy surface.  I grasp it and tear the moss free from its anchor.  The dripping green wad is slung over the fence’s top flicking water everywhere.  I reach in again and again.

With a grunt, I keep adjusting my seat in the vain hope of finding a comfortable way of sitting on and inch and a half of weathered board.  I’ll have all I want soon and the water bugs, which were frightened by my work, can get back to their almost pointless skittering.

When I accumulate enough of the long, stringy slime, I hope back onto the hard prairie soil and begin wringing the water out.  The hot sun helps dry my raw material.  Before long, I am twisting the moss and tying the ends together.  I create a length of what I termed, “grassy twine.”  It isn’t real strong and the smell is bad.  Then again, what else to I have to do?

“Matt!  Matt!  C’mon!  Dog-gone it, it’s time to eat!”

Grandpa is walking my direction.  He’s a tall man sun browned with overalls frayed at every end.  His amble is gawky to watch.  His arms swing low and his knees flare out a bit as he takes each step. 

“I wish you boys would quit playing around that stupid tank!  You could fall in and that’d be the end of ya!”

Leaving my grass twine hanging over the fence, I begin running toward the house.  I don’t get far before a strange stone catches my eye.  It looks a little like an arrowhead.  After picking it up I race over to my grandpa.

“Na,” He looks at the quartz rock then tosses it aside.  “That isn’t an arrowhead.  I’ve been looking one on my land my entire life and I thought I’d never find one until one day I finally did.”

I asked if I could see it.

“Na, I’m not real sure where it is.  I think grandma probably put it someplace.  Anyway, I know I’ve got one.”

The idea stuck with me.  Looking for something extraordinary among the countless ordinary.  Scattered over miles of the Great Plains and hidden with the innumerable stones there still had to be arrowheads to be found!

I won’t spend my life working the land and thus having a chance to look for an arrow head but I did find a different pursuit.  Among the billions of coins that cross people’s hands there must still be silver coinage from before 1964.  There still had to be old bills stashed for years in back vaults!    

What did the moss have to do with anything?  One day after pulling cash from the bank, I noticed that one of the bills resembled that deep, strong green of the moss and wasn’t the olive color ink that marks newer bills.  I examined the ten and found that it was printed in 1950.

Years later, I’m still looking.  Believe me, it does make each and every handful of change a good bit more exciting.  At the grocery store or the gas station, whenever coins pass my palm they get a quick examination.  I’ve found countless wheat pennies, a silver quarter, and a mercury dime.  Finding the extraordinary from the mass of normal coins is always a bit exhilarating.  I’ll not miss my next one.

Dear Employees,

Over the past six weeks several employees have expressed concerns over the dental package that was included along with our company’s health plan. Obviously these people are anti-teeth. Well, their complaints have finally chipped my enamel and stuck a nerve!

To begin with, the anti-teeth group wanted greater choices in their dental provider. What a ridiculous complaint! We already have a guy who almost graduated with a degree in urology on staff. For your information, a degree to practice dentistry takes six years and urology takes eight! Well, our in house dentist was in school for nearly a decade!

You all know Eugene. He’s the guy who got too inebriated at the Flag Day party and, well, you remember. Well, it’s his second cousin Oliff. Oliff is big on rinsing the oral cavity with alcohol to kill harmful bacteria. Specifically he specializes in vodka. You don’t spit this mouthwash you swallow. No waste and alcohol prevents scurvy!

Then there are the bi-monthly visits from Dr. Brushgood. In case you’ve forgotten, that’s the guy in the foam toothbrush suit that sometimes wanders past your cubical and pelts you with FREE unpackaged toothbrushes and tubes of toothpaste! And if we can find it in the budget, he’ll soon be throwing steel dental instruments at you was well. That’s FREE preventative care!

We’ve also convinced our office supply manager switch to non-toxic white out. While you’re making corrections to a legal form, take a second to dab that little brush over any problem areas you might have. This product (once it solidifies, please keep your mouth open until it dries, try fanning it with your hand) will seal cracks and fill in chips. Try to find that in any other plan!

Preventative care is also available! DodoEggs.com will pay exactly 50% of the cost of needed braces as long as you A) provide documentation from the dentist B) several photos of you or family member smiling with their braces after eating spinach C) equip them with miniature lights for Christmas.

For those that wish to opt out of the DodoEggs.com plan, we now offer a plan that guarantees the best possible care! Statistics show that people in Nebraska have the best teeth overall in the entire United States. Join the Frequent Fillings plan and we will pay exactly 96% of all preventive care and 99% of corrective care for any dentist in Nebraska.

From the Desk of Norm DePlume

Lead Developer – Crayola crayon “Underarm Stain” – Available only in the 1256 crayon box set.

Consultant – Lawn Gnome Action Project – Pose able lawn décor that allows you (and every juvenile delinquent on your street) to create interpretive scenes with these flexible mythical creatures.  A good way to get your lawn on the Internet!

Chemical/Olfactory Engineer – Feminine perfume – “Fast and Easy”

Dear Colleagues,

We continue our examination of the maladjusted males Binko ( band member, short, long hair, socially desperate) and Zits ( tall, acne problem, plays video games, socially unconcerned).  Their dorm room has been wired with surveillance devices to allow for complete data collection.

Our research has already unearthed countless clues to the ritualistic habits of the socially maladjusted yet no cure has been located.  In fact, it appears that outside of not having any female companionship, they are completely unaware of their status as social outcasts.

I put several of my graduate assistants in charge of creating a value based list of traits that hinder Binko and Zits’ complete interaction with everyone who isn’t related to them.  They began with Infrequent and Unsatisfactory Bathing (Repugnant Factor of 94) to brightly colored male briefs (Repugnant Factor of 48) to wearing the dreaded black shoes / white socks / blue jean shorts combination (Repugnant Factor 21).

(To compute each Repugnant Factor, square the absolute value of their GPA, divided by the shortest distance measured in centimeters from contacting a member of the opposite sex, and multiply by the derivative of bacteria samples taken from the dorm room floor.)

To begin the process of reconstituting these young people and changing behavior, we tried correcting the negative behaviors with the smallest Repugnant Factors. 

For Zits, it was his penchant for cupping both lips over the spout of any bottle from which he was drinking (Repugnant Factor 13).  Accepted procedure would be tucking the upper lip while drinking from a bottle.
  
Remarkably, Binko’s least repugnant trait was his failure to close his mouth while eating.  For much of our study, it has annoyed the video review team to, as they say, “Watch nearly a third of the digestive process before he even swallows!“  This habit has a Repugnant Factor of 27.  Please keep in mind; this is Binko’s least socially destructive habit!

We began my sending mock magazines such as, “Girl Fancy” and “Females Illustrated” with headlines that stressed females dislike for lip cupping and smacking.  Then we moved to flashing positive messages into there television programs.  Finally, several of my grad assistants (with feminine, loopy handwriting) wrote them as coming-to-America, exchange student, hula dancers from a fictitious South Pacific island we called, “Manly-Lo-Lo” in which they stated a desire for a mate with good manners.

Our final result proved inconclusive.  Binko and Zit’s dorm mates had the mistaken idea the magazines were ”woo-hoo” publications and stole them.  Binko couldn’t read cursive handwritting and my engineers found is dificult to slip in the subliminal messages with Zit’s changing the channel so often.

Next week we may attempt shock theropy.

Regards, Norm DePlume

The professor stood in the middle of the amphitheater’s belly.  Layers of seating each one a few feet above the other surrounded him.  In each seat, a graduate student looked on with stern expressions.  This was an important lecture, a cornerstone in the tower of their expertise. 

Each student was a candidate for an advanced degree in psychiatry.  Before their instructor, an open human skull sat on the table.  A few of its mechanical portions were already spread across the examination table.

“And you can see that this is the brain of the young adult male by the cylindrical, sexual drive.  All the cables that carry the thinking processes run directly through it.  Attempts to route male thinking around this device have thus far failed.“ 

The professor snipped the thick cords that emerged from both ends.  He wore thick, thermal gloves.  “Be careful when working with this device as it usually stays very hot.  Of course, we need to remove it to get to any of the other workings.”

An overhead on the far wall, exaggerated the professor’s work.  The gentle scratch of moving pencils was the only other noise.

“Ahem, yes, and here is the famed common sense comptroller.”  He held up a clumsy looking silicon panel.  “As you can see, there are very few relays on this meager circuit.  It is located just behind the eyes because it is believed to be solar powered.  Thus, we notice unusually bad judgment whenever the sun goes down.  Keep that in mind.”

A slight chortle skips through the students.   

“Here we go, the central processor!“  He pulled out a black disc just a bit smaller than a hockey puck.  With a trained twist of his screwdriver, the instructor removed the glossy black cover.  Inside was an immensely complicated weave of thin multi-colored wires.

“We could easily spend the next twelve years discussing what each of these wires does, however I’d like to focus our examination on these two gray wires right here.“ 

He held up a laser pointer and planted the shaking red dot on two wires near the center.  “Until recently we had no idea what these did.  However, I believe my team and I have finally divulged their actual purpose and it isn’t good.

Apparently, these channel thoughts that encourage others to perform the same evil that you perform.“ 

The professor stopped to take a sip of water.  “For instance, you don’t plan on studying for an important exam.  What happens when you see some of your fellow students in the dorm that night?  You encourage them to play basketball or anything else but do the right thing.”

A student near the front raises their hand.  “Professor, that idea is in direct violation of the Law of Guilt Mechanism which states, ‘All cognition of evil action must be routed to the guilt mechanism for processing even if the mechanism has been rendered inoperative.”

“Yes, yes, I know but apparently this wire actually circumvents and in some cases lessens the workings of the guilt mechanism.”

Another student asks, “Where do the wires lead?”

“The pleasure centers of all things.”

Short gasps escape from some of the students.

The instructor continues, “Its seems that encouraging others to do the same evil one performs themselves brings a slight sensation of pleasure.

Does one drink too much?  They usually have no qualm about sharing a drink with another even if they’re underage. 

Going to strip clubs when you know you shouldn’t?  Take comfort in that others accompany you!  In fact, invite a few friends.”

One of the observers from the top row raises her hand and says, “So your telling us that instead of feeling guilty over their own actions, they are actively encouraging and praising others who join with them?”

The professor brought the laser pointer down on the hair thick wires again.  “Yes, these go around the guilt mechanism but don’t seem to run directly through it.  We don’t know how to rework this poor construction as is is apparently common to all models.”

“Amazing professor!  What is your next project?“ 

The older man chuckled a bit.  “Well, trying to find a way to filter the adult male’s exhaust.  We are still no closer to a cure.  I’m still looking for grad students to assist me.  Any volunteers?“

I walked into the student lounge after my Black-Market Accounting 6103 class let out.  It was Friday afternoon and except for two losers nursing the pool table, the place was empty.  That’s when I noticed Ben sitting on a couch along the far wall.  He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, head hanging low.  Behind him was our rival’s mascot, a leprechaun of all things, hung in effigy.  Both looked to suffering from a dearth of good luck.

With a nonchalant air, I eased over to the vending machine nearest Ben’s solemn perch.  I didn’t have any change and except for the freeze-dried package of ketchup-covered strawberries nothing held my interest.

“Oh, hey Ben, what’s going on?”

He barely looked at me.  “Oh, not much.  I’m just sitting her chill’n.”

“Great, but unless you’ve cut a rap album or you’re wearing twelve ounces of cubic zirconium you can’t say ‘just chill’n.”

Ben offered a lifeless grin.

“Well, then what’s the problem?”

Like a drawbridge, his torso slowly straightened then fell against the wall.  It kind of looked like the leprechaun was kicking him in the head.  “Rachel broke up with me.  It’s kind of got me bummed.”

I didn’t say anything about society no longer using bummed and proceeded to, “Well that’s rough.  Did she say why?”

This is where his face really soured.  “She said, “God has told me we aren’t to be together anymore.”

The opportunity was there and I couldn’t resist, “Really?  Did this come as a total surprise to her?  Was she crazy about you this morning only to find smoldering stone tables in her front yard that read, ‘Thou shalt break up with Ben?”

“I guess so.”  Ben finally smiled.  “Actually I thought things were going pretty well between us.  It kind of stinks when it’s God who supposedly delivered the message.”

“Did she say there was any other reason?”

He shook his head.  “Nope, all she would say is that God told her it was time to break it off.”

“Well, there’s a ninety percent chance she’s just blowing smoke down your stovepipe but even if she sincerely believes that God gave her an inspired nudge, she probably shouldn’t tell you that. 

I mean, think about this knot.  What if you approached some girl you just met and said something like, ‘Hey baby, I know we’ve only just met but God told me last night that we should start dating?”

He sat up, “Wait, that’s it!  I’ll wait a week then tell Rachel that God instructed us to start dating again.  Whatever needed to be learned was and we can be together again!”

I grimaced a bit.  “Ben, you’re sounding desperate.  There are other females out there I promise.  God has provided a wonderful bounty.”

“I guess.”

“Here’s what you need to remember, even if you feel God leading you away from a relationship don’t use that as your reason for breaking up.  Use any pretence you want, no relationship is perfect, but don’t peg the entire decision on God then shrug.  It’s just bad taste.”

“Hey, I’ll add that to the end of the letter I’m writing her.”

“Ben, hold on a second…”

A select few debaters are referred to as “silver tongued.” while others have silver only in their fillings. 

The following was a challenging essay written to defend rodeo.  A friend of mine wrote it years ago and I found it so…uh, powerful that I kept a copy.  He wrote it after Rhode Island began requiring rodeos to have veterinarians on site.  It sounds like he believes they banned rodeo (I looked it up and could find no evidence of such).  The arguments he uses…well…I’ll let him speak for himself.

A sport for “real men.”  Rodeo is one of the most strenuous sports there is.  In rodeo the cowboy competes against an animal and a clock.  He puts his strength to the test, whether it be a horse, bull, steer, or time, he exerts everything he’s got against it.  He tries to wrestle the steer faster than the other guy, and ride better than the next man.

Rodeo is part of America’s heritage, and the banning of it disturbs me.

The animal rights activists are ripping this country apart.  These groups, I believe, should be abolished.

Most of the contestants have only one source of income, and that is rodeo.  There are a few who do it for a hobby and nothing else, but there is a certain contestant who went to 96 rodeos in 1991 and made just enough to get by.  I know what you’re thinking; why doesn’t he go out and get a regular job like most people, but some of the cowboys haven’t had a college education and most businesses won’t hire you unless you do.

I believe Rhode Island made a big mistake by banning the rodeo circuit; they have cut off a large portion of the state’s income, as rodeo is a pastime enjoyed by young and old.  By banning it, a major loss of entertainment has developed.

The government is stressing the importance of family, and by letting Rhode Island ban rodeo, good down-to-earth family entertainment is lost.

Please, I am urging you, politicians, don’t let the banning of rodeo get any further.

Attention reader!  What are you sitting around for?  Didn’t you read this?  Write your congressman, organize a petition, or wet your pants!  We can’t allow another precious brick to be pulled from the wall of our culture.  We must march upon Rhode Island and drag those Northeastern dumbknuckles back into tow!

Attention men of all ages!  Do you think incense is a form of inbreeding?  Does an onion smell from your armpit let you know it’s time for a bath?  Would you rather watch a documentary on the licking habits of different dog breeds than ten minutes of celebrity gossip?  Does the word “spa” stand for Suckering Phemale’s Anytime?  Does the phrase “moisturizing soap” seem redundant because you’re using water already?  Do you think privacy is something early women just invented to keep men away?

If you said, “Heck, yea!“  Then La Rusty Nail – Day Spa for Men is for you!  Here is a list of our all-inclusive “Tetanus” package and all for only twelve dollars!

We begin with a session of our “Killa’ Kart” therapy.  Ancient Swiss grocers developed this patented technique for male relaxation. We travel in a ‘76 GTO convertible to the parking lot of your local superstore.  You and your tribe (four other clients who will be with you during your day of manliness) will begin by shoving shopping carts toward the cart corral from ten feet away then twenty. 

You will feel the exhilaration as your carts clatter and roll toward the stationary carts then crash with a satisfying rattle.  (La Rusty Nail is not responsible for the damage you may cause parked cars or pedestrians.)  You’ll feel the years peal away as one by one your tribesmen sits in the cart and is soon injured  (Don’t worry!  They paid for the privilege!).

Then we proceed to our Boom-Applause Grotto.  Once there, you and your tribesmen will be given explosives varying from bobcats to whatever our exclusive supplier can secure off the “eboy”market (guaranteed fresh!).  Adrenalin will revitalize you as you pull from your dormant artistic side by custom crafting explosives!  From our Ewwww-La-La Balcony, you’ll watch as our trained engineers with very long poles light your work!  You’ll never clap louder!

Our next pleasurable abode will be the Caverns.  The Caverns is a warehouse converted into an extended bowling “thoroughfare”.  With your favorite rock and roll blasting away the years, you can bowl from any distance you’d like!  Pump your arms in manly pride as you smash hapless pins from only three feet away!  Roar with pride and have it drowned away by your favorite artist’s latest guitar rift pumped in at an exciting three hundred decibels!  (Potato guns are also available upon request.  Please, no shooting other tribesmen.)

You’ll melt with pleasure at the Da’Plata Pop.  Surrounded by soft grained plywood, you and your tribe will lubricate your joints by throwing sharp objects at our thirty foot, rotating drum of balloons!  All tastes will be provided for: knifes, darts, ninja throwing stars, even pitchforks.  Imagine, laughing with other guys as you clumsily toss dangerous instruments!  Feel the inner peace and experience the satisfaction that comes with the resounding “thump” of steel digging into wood.

We conclude with a visit to our Belching Bouquet and our patented method of Drink-A-Therapy.  You and your tribe will be seated in front of a sixteen-foot soda fountain with countless options (including all 231 varieties of Coke).  For your pleasure, we’ve doubled the dissolved carbonation!  Roar like the lions of the Sarengetty. 

Sip, swish, but don’t spit!  Who among you will create the next taste sensation?  How many disgusting hybrids will have you wishing you were never born?

Bonus!  Schedule this week and receive a polyester T-shirt with any message you choose!  Visualize the envy you will create in others as you proudly strut the streets with, “Cottage Cheese is made of Estrogen!” printed across your chest!  Schedule your session today!