Aboard My Train Of Thought - Scott C. Endsley (best ereader for pdf and epub txt) 📗

ABOARD MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT
Part One Of
The Salvaged Autobiographical Accounts Of Clyde P. Hipwing

1st Trilogy
1. Coming In From Out Of a Brainstorm/ 2. Yesterday's Milk
3. Get The Chip Off Your Shoulder


Copyright 1999
By
Scott C. Endsley
E-Mail Scott@Endsley.com


(Introduction) Looking out of the window aboard my own train of thought, I suddenly realized I was on the wrong track.

"Good Godfrey!" I exclaimed, "Stop this train!"

How could this happen? How could I repeat this tragic mistake, especially after being in the same situation previous to this one?

I kicked open the door to jump ship, landing head first on a large pile of rocks; before I even got the chance to jump! I was then approached by a small Merry Band of Calypso Singers who were caroling the lyrics of "Amazing Grace", to the tune of "Gilligan's Island".

"Have you any water?" I begged in thirst for an answer. But they went about their merry way, not noticing my bleeding pride, or for that matter -- my scraped elbows.

Staggering to my feet, I looked in the distance noticing nothing at all. But, after a lengthy observation, I realized I was mistaken, and moved on.

Tired, thirsty, embarrassed, and in my mid-thirties; I came across a large maple tree. I looked closer and read the carved inscription:

YOU'RE PROBABLY HERE.

What could this mean? How did they know? I became very paranoid while watching my step; then, suspicious of my own two feet, I let my fingers do the walking.

"Pardon me?" a voice said.

"Er... Ah... Yes?" I answered.

"Could you tell me the way to the Grand Entrance to the Gate of the City of the Intellectually Inept?"

"Yes, that's in the first episode of the first story," I told him.

A bit of a strange stranger he was. I couldn't help but notice his golf ball eyes, potato nose, and watermelon smile, even from my own disadvantaged perspective (what ever that means?). But, I gave him a map to Big Buford's Buffalo Barf Bucket Burger Bistro, and kicked him in the direction he should go.

Speaking of food, I realized I had a rather deep valley in my stomach.

"I'm hungry!" I yelled.

"And who isn't?!" Echoed the mountains.

Then a large loaf of manna fell on my head; two days later, I came to... and ate it.....

The evening and the morning were the third day, and what a wonderful day it was to be. For on that day, I, Clyde P. Hipwing, was to learn the answer to the question not yet asked by the Gentleman in the Back Row, with the Gray Flannel Suit and Funny Looking Nose.

"Why have you not asked the question yet?" I asked.

"Do what?"

I asked again: "I asked, why have you not asked the QUESTION that you were to ask?"

"You sure are inquisitive for a fellow your age," he sarcastically insulted.

This offended me greatly, so I grabbed the first available QUESTION MARK and struck him right between his optic receivers; and left him for dead.

Running from the scene, I tangled my feet in some railroad tracks as I heard the approaching clickity clacks, and I realized the dilemma I was in....... "How can it be that at the beginning of this great journey I am to partake, I am to be run over by my own abandoned Train of Thought?" I thought.

So I changed the subject -- and went home.
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COMING IN FROM OUT OF A BRAINSTORM

(EPISODE 1)
It was an ordinary Oklahoma Monday morning during the early fall of 1995, in the small south-central town of Mountain Oyster; though I was in a bit of a bad mood after cutting off my nose while shaving. Ah! But what a beautiful day it was; the leaves were falling, the trees were singing; and I was enjoying an action packed game of Ping-Pong with my cat.

"Jolly good for me, Clyde!" she purred enthusiastically, "A perfect 21, how about another?"

Just then the phone rang; and I could tell by the way it was ringing that it was not an ordinary phone call. So I didn't answer, instead, I grabbed my coat and went out for a walk. I came to terms with a fact I couldn't escape-- that I was being followed by a 6 foot, 8 inch, 250 pound, phone booth (that not only was ringing, but ringing loudly). I cut sharp to the right, down a dark alley-- but it was only a dead end. There was no use. I had no choice.

"Okay... okay... I'll answer!" I screamed, "Just stop following me!"

But of all things, it stopped ringing before I could get to it. The very nerve! Angry, I began kicking the blasted phone booth, just as its door opened and swallowed me whole. "Am I going to suffocate and die?... Who's going to feed my cat?" I thought to myself. I panicked....


WE INTERRUPT THIS STORY TO BRING YOU THIS NEWS BULLETIN.... SAM'S DELI, ON THE CORNER OF "I" AND "AM," WAS ROBBED THIS MORNING. MILLIONS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF GOODS WERE REPORTED STOLEN, BUT ACCORDING TO SAM, IT WAS NOTHING MORE THAN JUST A BUNCH OF BALONEY.

POLICE ARE SANDWICHING THE AREA, AND WHEN ASKED IF THEY WERE GOING TO SEARCH FOR THE SUSPECT AROUND THE CLOCK, POTHOLE COUNTY SHERIFF MARSHALL DUMAS, WAS QUOTED AS SAYING: "WELL, WE'VE SEARCHED THE ENTIRE PREMISES, SO I DOUBT HE'S HIDING ANYWHERE AROUND THE CLOCK."

THE MAYOR IS TO CALL A PRESS CONFERENCE AS SOON AS HE CAN GET HIS CLOTHES ON...

IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION ABOUT ANYONE WHO, IN THE LAST FEW WEEKS, HAS DEMONSTRATED AN INSATIABLE APPETITE, YOU ARE TO CALL POLICE SERGEANT HAROLD THIGHMASTER, AT 1-999-GLUTTON, IMMEDIATELY!

OPERATORS ARE STANDING BY!...THE FIRST 3 SECONDS ARE FREE! COME ON...BE THE FIRST ONE TO CALL!!! ......NOW BACK TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PARAGRAPH, ALREADY IN PROGRESS......


(Meanwhile) .......I got away from that blasted phone booth right before I was about to die! What an impossible situation!...What a cat!... I was never going to make her sleep outside again.

Not noticing where I was going, because of all the excitement; I bumped into the town odd-ball. Quite an outlandish, but lovable old man; he was still wearing the same suit he put on for his wife's funeral, three years ago.

"Good morning, Homer." I bid him.

As predictable, he just tipped his hat and muttered, "Dawn Comes with Rosy fingers."

That was all he would ever say. Nobody knew why... but he was treated lovingly as a novelty in our mundane existence, there in Mountain Oyster. Someone who professed to have witnessed him uttering anything at all, recalled he was convinced he was on a particular sort of odyssey, that supposedly lead to nowhere. I always thought that was just called 'life.' Well, at least he appeared sanguine in his mythical world.

Calculating the morning sun in concordance to the billboard with the half-naked woman on it, I realized it was the 11th hour, and I hadn't eaten a full meal since my last big train ride. I looked west, and spied a Big Buford's Buffalo Barf Bucket Burger Bistro, and salivated uncontrollably.

Once inside, I accosted the counter and noticed the strange stranger I had encountered a couple of days ago in the introduction.

"Been waiting for you all morning," the strange stranger in an audible whisper waved me over to his booth in one of the dark 90 degree angles of the restaurant. "Is this the Grand Entrance to the Gate of the City of the Intellectually Inept, or should I look elsewhere?"

"Yes, you're here, but what is the secret verse?" I asked, amusing myself by toying with his obviously displaced reasoning.

Without being forewarned, a waitress who expressed no remorse in regard to interupting our conversation, butted in, "Whad'll it be?"

"Oh, uh, I'll take the Catcher on the Rye, hold the Tartar, please?" the strange stranger drooled, then looked back at me with a double-take when I regained his attention with my former question about the secret verse.

He slumped in his booth, wiped his sweaty brow, then sat up straight again; and cleared his throat while he reached in his coat pocket for a pitch pipe. After rehearsing a series of ear bending, obnoxious and embarrassing renditions of "Mommy made me mash my M&Ms" musical scales, he began: "Where seldom is heard-- a discouraging word.... for what can a buffalo say?"

The entire crowd in the bistro busted out in ovation, as the boisterous waitress barked, "Cute... now whad'll YOU have?"

I realized we couldn't conduct business there, so I ordered a Baby Barf Burger and Bunion Rings to go. "Okay, you're in." I said, as we split from the joint.

As we were scurrying away from autograph seekers, a metallic silver, early model Mercedes, rounded the drive-through on two wheels, then screeched to a halt, landing back on all fours. In my original glance, I failed to witness anyone inside, as the windows were tinted beyond legal standards. But gradually the door creaked open, though all I could see was a cowlick and the crown of what I thought was a juvenile's head. Miniature fingers gradually wrapped around the exterior of the driver's door and abruptly hurled it shut.

"Your cat, or your life?" a one-eyed midget, with a hideous limp, and an equally silly pawn shop discount special aimed just below my knee-caps, imposed as a difficult choice... His finger trembled disturbingly on the trigger.

"NO.. Not my cat! Not my Matilda!" I motioned over at the Strange Stranger, "....over HIS dead body!" I bellowed as I swept her up, fled, and looked back after hearing the firing of his weapon. The Mercedes sped away, and a lone figure in a pool of black gooey substance, resembling ink, laid dead.

"Good Godfrey! The Strange Stranger!" I shivered.
___________________


(Episode 2)
How could I have done it? I caused the loss of an innocent life. Well, at least I still had Matilda, my best friend and Ping-Pong partner. But what was it I was to learn from the Strange Stranger? What was it he wanted? Then it hit me... The maple tree! The inscription!... I had to get back and look again. I went deep into the woods, until I found it:

YOU'RE PROBABLY HERE.

I got out a knife and carved:

YOU"RE PROBABLY RIGHT.

Just as I had crossed the "T", a bolt of lightning struck the tree. After the debris cleared, I couldn't believe my eyes as I read:

YOU COULD HAVE SAVED US BOTH A LOT OF TIME AND TROUBLE, IF YOU HAD DONE THIS TO BEGIN WITH!