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

Then there was a terrible earthquake! As the ground parted, a black cloud swirled overhead, and I feared for my life. But the ground stopped shaking as the earth belched up a Rand McNally road map, with a note attached:

You're going to Los Banos, California, where you
are to meet a certain fruit picker named
Elmo Pigglesworth.
He will give you further instructions...
Oh by the way --
Don't blow it this time, Clyde!


With no means of transportation, for my car was in the shop, I didn't look forward to the long journey. But walking along Interstate 40, somewhere in the panhandle of Texas a week later, Matilda and I exchanged old war stories. I was amazed at how much I didn't know about my own cat.

Being of some Siamese descent, her great-great-great-great-great- (and then some) grandfather, lived in the royal household of Ghengis Khan. Gramps would often lick Mr. Khan's wounds after he'd return from battle. He faithfully kept the rats out of their dwelling, and even helped Ghengis with hunting prey from time to time. Gramps would strive earnestly to secure his master's fondness, being as faithful as he could. One Saturday afternoon the Mongolian King got real ticked-off with Kublai, his grandson, for leaving the lawn mower out in the rain, despite persistent reminders. Being that Kublai was much bigger than Ghengis, poor Great Grampa Kitty took the brunt of his exasperation, and ended up that evening with a bright red luscious apple stuffed in his mouth on the Khan's dinner platter.

Then there was one of her great-great-great (etc) uncles, who helped Christopher Columbus discover America. Seems Chris stepped on Uncle Tom's tail, who instantaneously belted out a deafening shriek. It alarmed Chris so severely, he turned the ship west and unexpectedly spied a peninsula. Upon returning to Spain, Queen Isabella attempted to knight the potential Sir Tom, but like Chris, she accidentally stood on his rear appendage, resulting in the same consequences. Startled by his loud squall, the queen tumbled over him and, unfortunately, hurled her sword into King Ferdinand's chest. Uncle Tom was immediately sent before the Spanish Inquisition, but was spared being burned at the stake, as long as he agreed to become a court jester. When she needed a good laugh, Isabella would, from time to time, call upon him to remind her of the governing factors surrounding the matter of how the Good King kicked the bucket.

On a couple of Wednesdays later, Matilda and I had walked a good twelve hours before we stopped for the night just east of Santa Rosa, in the barren desert of New Mexico. She caught a couple of rats and I roasted them over some burning tumbleweed. We were delightfully filled for the evening, but boored with my cooking. After successfully panhandling along the way the next day, we aquired a decently adequate amount of change to purchase a few pre-packaged peanut butter sandwiches along the way, for the rest of the journey.


We had just made it to the California border nearly a month later, when Matilda suggested, "You know, this is dumb. We ought to hitch a ride." We had plenty of opportunities to hop a train or two, but after landing head first on a pile of rocks for the umpteenth time, I stayed away from them as much as possible, so we walked on. We had just about made it to the San Joaquin Valley when, coming over a hill, we noticed an armored road block. When we got no more than about 15 feet away, they raised their guns while a short but stocky BATF officer blared on an amplified megaphone, "Clyde P. Hipwing?!"

"Yes....And I can hear just fine without that thing!"

"Oh, uh sorry, drop the knapsack, sir...and walk away slowly," he demanded, aiming his gun nervously. "You and the cat hit the ground, NOW!"

Laying flat on my face, I observed a small bomb squad of three men, in fully protective clothing, gently putting my knapsack in some sort of sealed heavy metal capsule. "Its just our lunch!" I laughed.

"We know what it is...I'm afraid we're gonna have to take you both in for questioning concerning the Sam's Deli robbery, back in Mountain Oyster, Oklahoma."

We were rushed frantically to the Prune Pit County sheriff's office in a convoy of five squad cars, followed by three FBI vans and two armored trucks, filled with SWAT teams escorting us on either side.


The sheriff was a big beer-bellied type displaced Texan, and was all haughty for having brought us in. "You wanna tell me bout this here robbery in Oklahoma, boy?"

"I'd like to, but I know nothing about it," I answered.

"Well you're writing this story, aren't you? Come on...You did it. You stole all that stuff, didn't you?" he insisted with his face into mine.

"That's baloney!"

"And you stole that baloney, didn't you, boy?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about. I was being swallowed by a telephone booth about the time of the robbery... If you don't believe me, just ask my cat. She's the one who saved me!" I stood up.

Sheriff Bonehead really liked that one. I should have just kept my mouth shut. "Ok, Mr Hipwing...Clyde, why is it you can clearly remember what you were doing at the time of this here robbery over a month ago, but you can't tell me where this half-eaten baloney sandwich, that was found this morning in your knapsack, came from?"

"I don't know! I don't even like baloney. If I remember correctly it was a peanut butter sandwich, but, I'm not really sure."

"Well, boy, sounds to me like your long term memory is purdy doggone good, but as for the short term........"

"Alright," I smarted, "Ask me about that baloney sandwich again...and I'll give you an answer in about three years, Ok?!"

I was locked up overnight with one other prisoner, who snored monstrously. The next morning, I thought I'd get friendly and introduce myself to my cellmate in the top bunk. "Good morning. When do they serve breakfast here?"

There was a long pause. Then suddenly he replied, "Dawn comes with Rosy fingers."

I hit my head as I raised up. "Homer!?"
--------------------


(Episode 3)
I was charged with eight counts on possession of stolen property, four counts on "the intent to distribute" (I guess they meant sharing four sandwiches with my cat), and one count on "not properly packing your lunch like your mother surely taught you!"

I was to stay in jail for two long months without a word from Matilda. Poor cat, they probably put her to sleep, I thought. I was so depressed, I didn't bother to prepare for the trial, which was to be held in California because of all the public rage back home in Mountain Oyster. To top it off, I was assigned a court appointed attorney who rarely came around.


Some time later, the hearing was well into its third hour as the DA was twisting testimony out of his concluding witness.

"Now, you're employed by the only meat packing plant in downtown Helenback, Arkansas. This has already been established for the record. But could you tell those of us who have never been to Helenback, Mr. Kimble, what exactly is the name of that business, trademark or establishment, as registered with the Internal Revenue Service?"

"'The Only Meat Packing Plant In Downtown Helenback, Arkansas', Sir."

"And just what is your job title?" The cocky Prosecutor drilled.

"I'm the Head Meat Inspector!" Mr. Kimble boasted.

"Very well, Mr. Kimble," the DA praised his witness, then confidently approached the bench. "Your Honor, I'd like at this time to introduce Exhibit H to the jury as a momentous segment of consequential evidence in this egregious litigation."

"For heaven's sake, Benson," the Judge harped, "It's just a stupid piece of baloney! This is the eighth exhibit you've introduced today...When are you going to wrap-up all of this baloney, it's getting mighty stale!....Hey, that was pretty witty, wasn't it!?"

"Joking aside, Your Honor.....This isn't just a piece of baloney; but a 'half eaten' piece of baloney!"

"All right, let the record show Exhibit H....another piece of baloney has been submitted into evidence," Judge Thomas grumbled, looking at his watch and thinking about lunch.

"Now, Mr. Kimble, explain to the jury what this is...." Benson commanded, dramatically holding the exibit against the witness' nose.

"Uhhh Yer kiddin', right?" He snickered, insulted. "Why, it looks like a piece of baloney to me, but of course I could be wrong...I ain't an expert; I've just managed to keep my job through the years cause I'm with the union!"

The courtroom broke out in silly laughter, while I noticed my Public Defender looking as if his hopes had been lifted. However, humiliated by his immediate fiasco, and sensing a mockery was at hand, the Prosecuting Attorney bitterly chewed out the jury:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this significant piece of evidence was found on the defendant's person at the time of his arrest by a BATF (Baloney Alchohol Tobacco and Firearms) officer! When this case retires for deliberation, you'd better really strive to consider how seriously damning this is to Mr. Hipwing's alibi. Not only do the bite marks match his dental records, but I've spoken with every lunch meat connoisseur in this state, and all of them concur that...."

"Benson, this is not the time for your closing remarks! This is the fifth time this morning you've tried to manipulate the jury. I won't have anymore of it in my courtroom; and if I should, you won't be released from holding, until you miraculously pull out of your nose $25,000!...Now, direct only questions, exclusively to your Witness! Do you understand Me?!!!!!" His Honor Shouted.

Benson immediately humbly bowed himself apologetically before the Throne, "Yes Sir, it won't happen again, sir!!!!"

"Good.......You may proceed!"

"Thanks...I'm sorry, Sir, Your Honor...Yes, Thanks Again, Sir!... .Now..... Uh, MR. Kimble, just how old would you say this particular, half-eaten scrap of baloney is, just by inspecting it?"

"Hmmm, I wouldn't throw a Barmitzvah any time soon!"

"Mr. Kimble," Judge Thomas spoke softly, but firm, "I'm very serious...Would you like me to hold you in contempt?"

"What? NO, I wouldn't like you to hold me at all!...no matter how serious you are!...Just what exactly are you hinting at with that question?"

"Your Honor, I have no further questions." Benson sighed and rolled his eyes, throwing his notes so as to scatter them all over the table, and sat down.

"Very well, if there is no further questions from the defense, You may step down, Mr. Kimble."

"No further questions, Your Honor," my lawyer declared.

Before stepping down from the witness stand, Mr. Kimble made known his regret for his behavior: "I'm sorry, Your Honor, if I hurt your feelings when I was shocked by your offer. I'm just not into that sort of thing, but if I were in your shoes...uh well, I don't mean to say I wanna be gettin' into your shoes or nothin', uh..but of course, I don't have nothin' against nobody that does!...but uh....."