franksolich has primitives for pre-Thanksgiving

[franksolich]

Note: this short story, based upon three separate incidents in franksolich’s real life over the years, but welded together, is dedicated to Big Bertha, the “Bertha Venation” primitive on Skins’s island, with the hopes that it cheers her up during what appears might be a rather bleak and austere holiday for her and her pal.

The story’s already written, already completed, but I’m going to drag it out until next Wednesday evening, when the nominations for the Top DUmmies of 2015 get underway.

- - - - - - - - - -

“Oops, excuse me,” she said, as she walked into the kitchen, saw me, averted her eyes, and headed for the bathroom near the bedroom.

Whatever, I thought to myself; anyone who gets up too early in the morning can’t reasonably expect to avoid seeing things.  It was 4:00 a.m., about an hour before my own rising time, and I’d been making coffee when she walked in.

An overnight guest, she was one of two primitive femmes from Wisconsin, and friends of one of my nephews--the “sensitive, artistic” one, the always sour, always negative, one, who lives in Denver, Colorado--and they were on their way there, for the Thanksgiving holiday.

This is the halfway point for that trip, and my nephew had asked me to put them up for a night.

“Now, be nice to them,” he’d said.

Of course, I promised.  “Remember, I’m a nice guy, one of the nicest guys one can ever hope to meet.”

I’d been told their names, but embarrassed to admit I hadn’t grasped them, I simply silently referred to the “married” pair as “Penny” and “Penelope.”

It apparently was a mixed “marriage,” with the “husband” of the pair—the one who’d just walked by me in the kitchen—supporting the worthier candidate for the Democratic nomination, and the “wife”—a short squat carbuncled femme looking very much like the late Nina Khruscheva—supporting the perennially-indignant Methuselah.

I was curious how that was working out, but hadn’t had a chance yet, to inquire.

They’d been expected hours and hours before, but never showed up until after midnight, way late and without any explanation as to why, as if they didn’t have to excuse themselves.

But being invariably gallant towards women—I can’t help myself--I’d put them up in the bedroom while I slept on the couch in the living room.

However, irked that they’d been late and never apologized, I decided that was the last kindness they deserved from me, and I wasn’t going to bother doing anything else special so as to accommodate their needs and sensibilities.  I’d just act as if they weren’t even there.

to be continued

 

[obumazombie]

When is the cousin going to be coach fransolich's guest for Thanksgiving ?

[jb2u11]

I am a little offended you made them come from Wisconsin, it just makes the state look bad.....and maybe you could change their names to Tongue and Groove.

Can't wait to read more!

[franksolich]

“Your nephew said you’re ‘different,’” she said, after coming back into the kitchen, trying to look past, and not at, me.

“Of course, he didn’t mean it in a necessarily bad way,” she added.

“One has to be careful, believing what my nephew says about me,” I said.  “I never got along with his parents—my oldest brother and his wife—they were hippies, and while he was growing up, he absorbed much of their absurd notions about me.  His late mother, a sister-in-law, was in particular a real hassle; she always forgot she was merely the wife of a brother of mine, that she wasn’t married to me, too.

“The nephew and I are closer in age to each other than was my oldest brother and myself, but I assure you, madam, there are few, if any, similarities.

“Don’t get me wrong—he’s my nephew, and I care about him, but at the same time, he’s my least-favorite nephew out of all of them.

“Now, I’m not really trashing him, just accurately describing his character, but he’s surely one of the most negative, most sour, most pissy, people I’ve ever met.

“And I’m pretty sure he’s said the same about me, but with considerably less reason.

“So…..he’s the vegetarian, the health-food fanatic, the physical-fitness freak, and was smoking dope out there in Colorado long before it was legal—not to mention a few years younger than me.

“But as you know, he’s got a pot-belly, thinning hair, wrinkles and flaccidity, the body odor of advancing age—at the same time he presumptuously criticizes, chastises, this elder of his for my values and way of living. 

“I asked him one time, which he didn’t deign to answer, ‘if I’m the corrupt, decaying, decadent one here, how come other people when meeting me with you for the first time, automatically assume I’m your younger brother?’

“Now, again, he’s my nephew, and I care about him, but one has to look at people realistically, no matter how much one likes them.

“And I’m going to be bluntly honest with you, hoping you keep in mind that because he’s my nephew, I actually care about him very much—but affection should never be blind.

“You know, of course, his late maternal ancestress deemed him a ‘sensitive one,’ an aesthete, an ‘artist,’ when such judgements were way too premature.  So he went to college, majoring in art ‘history’—and now clerks at a natural-foods store in Denver.

“Somewhere inbetweentimes, he met a chick, a recently-divorced flake a few years older than himself—almost my own age—who’s a registered nurse, and shacked up with her.

“It’s a situation analogous with that of the bloody axe primitive of the cooking and baking forum or the condom primitive who used to run the college football predictions on Skins’s island.  They both shacked up with desperate women who think they love them.

“But the truth is, the two guys are there simply because they get to hop around in the sack any time they want, and she brings home the bacon.

"Stupid women; if the guys really loved them, there'd be marriage licenses, framed and hanging on the living room walls.

“Same thing here; she thinks he loves her, and is always buying him things he can’t afford himself—mountain bicycles, trips to exotic regions, the latest in electronic toys, whatnot.  But actually, he stays with her simply because she buys him things.

“What I can’t figure out is why I, who has never used, abused, or misused a woman in my life, incur the spite and wrath of women’s-libbers, while, if she ever met him, BainsBane would think my nephew’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

to be continued

[bravenak]

If you think you're some sort of writer, white boy, you have to be the most deluded person on the planet.

[franksolich]

If you think you're some sort of writer, white boy, you have to be the most deluded person on the planet.

Oh my.

Hi, cali.

Chomping at the bit, waiting to get back onto Skins's island?

But really, dear, you know that you won't be back there more than five minutes before you offend someone else, getting alerted upon.

[obumazombie]

If you think you're some sort of writer, white boy, you have to be the most deluded person on the planet.

So now you're the King of judgement about writing and delusion ?
If your own delusion level is the basis, I could maybe see you being the King of judging delusion.

[tanstaafl]

If you think you're some sort of writer, white boy, you have to be the most deluded person on the planet.

Oh my!

You do seem to be queen/king of the racist one-liners, Conservative Cave version of bravenak.

But it won't et you a nomination for DOTY, that will go to the real DUmpmonkee bravenak - as will all of the votes.

Sucka!

[franksolich]

“I dunno,” I went on; “there’s no pleasing some people.

“Treat a woman with dignity and respect, treat a woman as an equal, but if for some other reason the women’s-libbers don’t like one, it’s to no avail.  One might as well treat them like chattel or livestock, for all the gratitude the rabid she-women extend.

“Of course, it’s not in me to be that way, and I long ago quit expecting professional women to care about me no matter how much I'm on their side.

“It’s the same thing with the environmentally-conscious primitives on Skins’s island; no matter how much I do in that direction, the  enviro-wacko primitives don’t like me anyway, preferring the conspicuous consumers among them, over me.

“You, madam, see how I live out here; this big old house, and hardly anything in it.

“No television, no radio, no stereo, and until a couple of years ago not even a telephone.  Eight kitchen utensils, which doesn’t include the four pots-and-pans.  One pot-holder.  No microwave oven, no electric mixer.  Other than the stove and the refrigerator, the only extraneous appliance is a coffee-maker.

“It’s great, having miles and miles of formica counter-space with nothing cluttering it. 

“Just a dresser, mirror, single-bed mattress on a pallet, and a chair, in the bedroom.

“All this room, all this uncluttered space, gives one a sense of freedom.

“I’m pretty much a ‘minimalist;’ I make it a point to not have, or deal with, things that aren’t vitally important.  It saves a great deal of worry and stress, not having to fret about things costing money, or taking up space, or breaking down, or getting stolen.

What I didn’t mention to her, not wanting her to know I’m deaf, was that if one’s deaf, the less one has, the easier life is.

“My garbage pick-up is a mere once a month, and it’s to come here and unload a 30-gallon barrel.  I just don’t generate much trash, as compared with primitives living in crowded congested corrupt machine-run urban areas.

“I’m not doing anything consciously to lessen my carbon footprint; it’s just something that naturally happens when one lives without things he doesn’t need.

“Now, some of this, some of these habits, were in me from childhood and after, but my seeing the abysmal poverty and want in the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants made it clear to me that the ‘average’ American doesn’t need, really, 95-99% of all that he has, in order to lead a decent and civilized life.

“I won’t even wear a wrist-watch, based upon things I saw in that time and place; what right do I have to possess such a thing, when there’s so many others who have far less?

“I’d like to say I’m a nice guy, and give everything away to those less fortunate than myself, but in blunt truth, I never have anything to give away because I just don’t bother acquiring things I don’t need.

“As you already know, I don’t even bother with owning a bathrobe or pajamas, which are for wimps anyway.”

Just at that moment, the “wife” of the pair suddenly came into the kitchen from the bedroom and seeing me, stopped in her tracks.

to be continued

[franksolich]

“Excuse me,” she said, grimacing, “but you’re naked.  You’re totally naked.”

She was the short, squat, dour, one of the pair, the “wife.”

“I know,” I said.  “I sleep this way, and it’s still almost the middle of the night.”

“But don’t you feel the least bit embarrassed, being caught like this?” she asked, looking at me as if I were Bozo from Outer Space.

“No,” I said.  “I’m used to it; I’m caught like this all the time—but fortunately only by people for whom it doesn’t matter.”

If they’d been old folks, respectable women, members of the clergy, or children, I would’ve done no such thing, but these were primitive femmes, who wouldn’t recognize bad taste and bad manners even if it went up and smacked them on the face.

That part however I didn’t say to her.

“It’s not a big deal, and besides, it’s a good way to overcome social anxiety, being stark naked in front of a stranger who’s popped in out of the thin air.

“I’m awkward and shy with people, and this is a good way to build confidence.

“But anyway,” I said, “I do it mostly because I’m a tightwad; it saves wear-and-tear on the underwear.

“And I hope I don’t sound rude, but my terrain, my rules.  If I was on your terrain, I’d follow your rules.”

- - - - - - - - - -

She kept eyeing me, guardedly, a distrust that I didn’t appreciate.

“You don’t have to worry, madam,” I assured her; “despite all appearances, I have no intention of forcing myself upon you, unless you want me to.  I’m not a pushy person—“

What I didn’t mention was my cold, clammy fear, as she had a good fifty pounds on me, and there was her partner, somewhat smaller but still it made two against one.

“But you don’t even know me,” she said, apropos of nothing, non sequituring as such women tend to do.

“I know, but I’m a nice guy,” I pointed out.  “As a friend of humanity, if you thought it’d do you some good and wanted me to poke you, well, I’d accommodate you, no problem. 

“And if you’re not interested, I won’t”—and I was silently hoping she wasn’t.

“I’m whatever the other person wants me to be, excepting only my Immortal Soul.”

- - - - - - - - - -

“This is weird,” she said; “I never expected anything like this in one of the reddest areas of the country—“

True, I said, we tend to be straitlaced, somewhat narrow and prissy…..”about certain things, about things that matter.

“Like religion, or abortion, or crime and corruption, or terrorism, or failure to take responsibility for one’s actions, or decay and decadence in public and personal morals, or parasites sucking off the governmental teat—those things matter, demanding that one be adamant about them.

“But this, no; I really doubt sleeping bare-assed is anything that really and truly matters in the greater scheme of things.  Based upon casual observation, I’d guess that about a third of the people around here don’t bother getting dressed for bed.

“I think God’s more concerned with other aspects of people, than if they were sleeping in the raw.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

She kept looking at me as if expecting me to do something—like slink away in shame and get dressed—but as I was busy with the coffee, I saw no need to do anything else.

Looking me over, she finally pointed out to her partner, “below the neck, he looks okay, although he’s as flat as a board, and probably could use some more chest hair, although we wouldn’t want him to look like that hairy beast Atman in eastern Connecticut.

“But above the neck, with his hair the way it is, he looks absolutely feral, as if he’d been raised out in the wilds by a wolf, or in the jungle by Tarzan and Jane, or something.”

I silently congratulated myself, as this is the reaction I usually wish to provoke from strangers looking at me.  Better to have them look at thick, luxuriant, unruly hair that covers up the absence of ears, than to notice the absence of ears because of shorter-and-neat hair.

“And out here in the middle of nowhere, he’s right where he belongs, if he wants to run around like that,” she continued, although with some subtle but detectable envy in her voice.

to be continued

[franksolich]

“Now wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute,” I protested.  “It was your side, not my side, that invented all of this free love and let-it-all-hang-out, all this if-it-feels-good-do-it, ignore the prudes, whatever else.  And now that I’m practicing what you guys preached, you’re offended?

“I mean, I think that one must be concerned about what other people think, because we live in a society and have to get along with each other.  So it’s important to tailor one’s conduct and behavior so as to get along with the maximum possible number of other people.

“But the hippies changed all that; it’s now ‘do what you want to do, and to Hell with what anybody else thinks.’

“Well, I disagree, but who am I, to go against the tidal wave of this social insensitivity, this new selfishness; what can I do against it?  One might as well go with the flow.

“What’s most intriguing to me is that your side, which invented and sparked all this sexual liberation, never wants to talk about it any more.  It’s as if you’re ashamed of having started it.

“On Skins’s island, for example, any discussion of sex is apparently taboo—this, on a message board populated by the very people who popularized wide-open discussion and exhibition of sex.  I’ve never seen people so uptight about discussing sex, as the primitives.

“In fact, I think that if Skins opened up a sex forum, where the primitives could freely and uninhibitedly discuss all their experiences, in no time at all that forum’d be bigger than even the cooking and baking forum there.

“But having brought sex out into the forefront, suddenly they don’t want to talk about it.

“I wonder why that is.”

“Men are pigs when it comes to sex,” my second guest, the sour-faced Bernie bully, interrupted; “all they want to do is poke and leave, using women as mere toys, as sexual objects—“

“Oh now,” I protested; “women use men as sexual objects too, and I for one don’t mind it the least when it happens to me.  It’s a lot of fun being a sexual object, and I’d like to be one more often, but alas one’s limited in time and energy.”

to be concluded, in time for the beginning of nominations for the Top DUmmies of 2015

[franksolich]

“I rather enjoy being played with by people I like, as long as they’re not weirdos or creeps,” I continued.  “In fact, you may play with me, if it improves your outlook on things,” I added, but hoping she wouldn’t take me up on it.

Which she didn’t, instead commenting that being used couldn’t possibly do much for oneself.

“Look at BainsBane—“ she said.

“Yeah, right, look at Jugs,” I interrupted.  “Given what she’s got, there’s no doubt she’s been used, misused, and possibly abused, by men—and given what she’s done with her life, and where she’s been, by men of Latin American and African derivation, not any evil fundie conservative white men as she so ludicrously alleges.

“I really doubt BainsBane ever had sex with a decent and civilized man in her life.

“And of course she got twisted by it, being used as a sexual object, but it’s her own damned fault.  If she had a better attitude about it, she’d write off all these experiences as merely a lot of frivolous fun, nothing more than that.

“Jugs is the prime textbook example of why someone who can’t handle sex should stay away from it, getting some other sort of recreation.

“I have a friend, who comes here about two or three times a summer, and spends a week or two, as she’s got professional—academic, scientific—interests around here.  She stays here with me, as she’s done for the past ten years.

“Way back then, I was rather modest and discreet when around her, because she’s high-class, really high-class, and I wanted to impress her with my manners.  She’s distantly related—by marriage—to Clare Boothe Luce, which encourages one to behave.

“But then because of an accidental early-morning encounter—she was using the bedroom, I was sleeping on the couch in the living room—she confessed it turned her on, seeing me naked.  Because she is who she is, and I’m a nice guy always wishing to please others, I immediately agreed to be naked in front of her as much as possible. 

“It really pushes her buttons, rocks her chair, rows her boat.  It’s great, being totally naked for her benefit.

“However, as much as I’d like her to break out, expand some, she refuses to get naked herself unless in the bedroom or in the bathroom, which can be ‘converted’ into a rough sauna. 

“She says there’s always people coming out here; I remind her it shouldn’t make any difference, because they’re my friends and hers too, but unless it’s me, she doesn’t want to be seen outside of clothes.

“Me, as long as they’re just other adult males, or women who’ve been around the block a few times, and not old people, respectable women, members of the clergy, or children, I don’t care. 

“So…..while I’m running around naked and she’s not, we swim in the river, cook out, sit on the back porch talking and reading, or she’s chatting on her cellular telephone as I twiddle my thumbs, play ‘fetch the frisbee’ with the cats, laying out under the sun getting tanned, or riding around the remote hills and pastures as she snaps photographs.

“But what really seems to turn her on—and pumps this adrenalin—is watching me work while naked, such weeding the garden or picking up a big old bullsnake and tossing it out of the garden or replacing a flat tire or collecting firewood or setting up croquet wickets or washing the dishes or confronting some maliciously intruding old hippie who wandered onto these grounds or washing her car, those sorts of things.

“When it’s 110 degrees out in the Sandhills, and a tire on the ATV—all-terrain-vehicle—needs repaired or replaced under the harsh, unrelenting sun, being naked’s a whole lot cooler than wearing something.

“A few times—not many, but a few—she’s brought two or three girlfriends of hers for the week or weekend, which is even more fun. 

“Unless they’ve been forewarned, at first they freak out, but then in short order decide they like, really like, having a naked guy wait on them hand-and-foot, catering to their every whim and wish as long as it’s within decent and civilized bounds.

“But if one of them’s new to me, one has to be careful with her.  A man, having a shorter trigger than a woman, pops off quicker than she can, and if one wishes to have fun all afternoon and evening, best to draw it out for as long as possible, that she not make any sudden moves that prompt me.

“And also it can be an irritant, when someone new tries putting something on me—such as a hat or a neck-tie or a “lei”—thinking it’d make me look ‘better.’  There’s even been three or four times—again, with people meeting me the first time—when some woman’s wanted to paint or decorate me.

“I don’t do costumes or accoutrements; I just do totally naked, and prefer the woman to do the same.  Toys, gadgets, and ‘make believe’ are for dull, unimaginative, uncreative people.   

“I have to admit it does something for me too, surrounded by three or four chicks hanging on to me, whereas back in high school, I couldn’t even get the fat girl in the class to look at me for more than a second or two, even with clothes on.”   

the end, as promised; one hopes Big Bertha enjoyed the story

[njpines]

Love the hard wood floors, Frank! I have the real deal in my old house as well which were sanded, stained (lightly) and polished by me when I moved in years ago and are aging well. Something I remind myself of this Thanksgiving -- that I'm back, living in my 101 year old house that's solid as a rock (as it's made out of stone), well and somehow, despite what's happened, I have hope I can make things right again.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

Sue 

[jb2u11]

Good read Frank. How about having Nads for Christmas?

[BlueStateSaint]

Good read Frank. How about having Nads for Christmas?

Why do you want Coach to be cannibalistic?

[franksolich]

Good read Frank. How about having Nads for Christmas?

Actually, I'm trying to dream up a Christmas with the bitter old Vermontese cali primitive and bravenak (the real one, not the one here, who's apparently cali herself).

[jb2u11]

Might want to consider getting the big guy in pretty soon also, I think I heard he's dying btw.

With his dimentia and a freezer full of mini tacos the story could almost write itself.

[Ptarmigan]

This a tough one and gets tougher each year. Nadin, Bravenak, Bainsbane, and Cali come to mind.

[Skul]

This a tough one and gets tougher each year. Nadin, Bravenak, Bainsbane, and Cali come to mind.

A galactic merger of black holes.
The last time gNads and the phDD came close, it set off epic Egostic waves and a monumental
cat fight. It was a thing of beauty when viewed from a distance.

[obumazombie]

I hope you're not thinking about having turkey for thanksgiving, you cannibal...

PETA and Hannibal are urging Americans to go vegetarian this Thanksgiving – by comparing turkey to human flesh.
It used to be the joke that a Puritan (aka Pilgrim) was someone who lay awake at night worrying that someone, somewhere, was having a good time.

There aren’t many Puritans around these days.
Instead, we have the joyless scolds at PETA, and some of their not-so-bright Hollywood pals, trying to ruin the holiday the Pilgrims originated.

Just in time for Thanksgiving, creator Bryan Fuller and star Gillian Anderson of NBC’s cannibal-themed show Hannibal, joined forces with PETA to produce an ad against the meat industry:
“Anderson's Creepy 'Hannibal' Spot Gives Meat-Eaters Food for Thought.”

The ad shows Anderson sitting at a Thanksgiving feast about to eat her own nicely roasted leg.
“Eating meat,” she says in a seductive (ahem, sickening) voice.

“It’s a matter of taste.”
“PETA pal” Fuller commented on how eating meat is the same as cannibalism.

“Writing Hannibal made me realize that human beings and other animals have more similarities than differences,” the deep thinker told PETA.
“It had a direct impact on how I view meat and what I put in my body.”

He concluded, “Eating another sentient being is no different than eating another human being, in my mind.”
Which is why Fuller’s mind is a dark and scary place.

But hey, what a way to wish viewers a “Happy Thanksgiving!”

My neighbor used to have a saying about libs, a dog, a cat, a pig, a whale, a human baby...they're all the same.
It's how libs think.


full article...


http://www.newsbusters.org/blogs/culture/katie-yoder/2015/11/24/hannibal-peta-warn-people-eating-turkey-thanksgiving-are#sthash.fOmd24e2.dpuf

[Ptarmigan]

A galactic merger of black holes.
The last time gNads and the phDD came close, it set off epic Egostic waves and a monumental
cat fight. It was a thing of beauty when viewed from a distance.

Oh yeah. 

[thundley4]

I have to ask. Do primitives taste like chicken?

[Ptarmigan]

If you think you're some sort of writer, white boy, you have to be the most deluded person on the planet.

Try again!

[obumazombie]

I have to ask. Do primitives taste like chicken?

They taste more like turkey, right after they kiss it...

[Patriot Guard Rider]

They taste more like turkey, right after they kiss it...

Nothing says love like liplocking a liberal girl after they've sucked on a turkey beak.