Mrs. Alfred Packer and Wild Bill do Easter (done)

[franksolich]

In the dwindling sunlight of the afternoon among the trees of northeastern Oklahoma, hippywife Mrs. Alfred Packer rubbed her eyes as she awoke from her afternoon nap on the couch, hearing hippyhubby Wild Bill tromping into the house.

Following in his shadow were three of Wild Bill's brothers; the one with both eyes on the same side of his nose, the one whose jaw receded into his neck leaving him chinless, and the youngest one, the one with a tongue bigger than the inside of his mouth.

"Get up, woman," ordered Wild Bill; "you're lazier than a peach rotting on a tree, and there's work to do.  

"We got Easter dinner for you to fix, and it better be good," he added, as he and his brothers plopped onto the oilcloth-covered kitchen table bunches of dead rabbits, clumped together as if bananas.

"And don't forget to cook up some eggs, too," Wild Bill instructed, as he and his brothers tromped out again.

to be continued

[JLO]

Do you think she reads this ongoing story?  I wonder if she laughs or cries about it.  She seems to be a goodhearted person.

[franksolich]

Do you think she reads this ongoing story?  I wonder if she laughs or cries about it.  She seems to be a goodhearted person.

I dunno if Mrs. Afred Packer does, or doesn't.

However, she's been an inspiration for a whole series of stories.

You're at the same point I was, up until last November.  I used to think warmly and kindly of Mrs. Alfred Packer; praising her to the skies, lauding her manners, complimenting her practical sense. 

In fact, for some years, up until last November, Mrs. Alfred Packer was the primitive on Skins's island to whom I felt the most affection.

It's all on the record here; check to see all the kind things I was saying about Mrs. Alfred Packer up until last November.

All that came to a screeching halt last November, when I realized that Mrs. Alfred Packer is no heroine; that she's a small narrow-minded petty bigot voluntarily under the thumb of the misanthropic Wild Bill, who's never said a kind thing or done a kind deed in his life.

Talk about having to do a convulsive about-face.

And then in mid-December, the late lamented Tangerine LaBamba showed up here, and confirmed that Mrs. Alfred Packer is a base, carnal, selfish, greedy, troubled, disturbed primitive, nothing like one's own grandmother at all.

I suspect as time goes on, you'll see this too.

This is why it's always important to never engrave one's impressions of primitives in stone; to keep one's perceptions and opinions fluid.

[franksolich]

After rubbing her aching bones, Mrs. Alfred Packer began deskinning the rabbits, and as it was a bloody mess, she tried to think about other things.

How different this day was, from this day in other times, other places, she thought.

As a young girl in urban Ohio, Mrs. Alfred Packer had always looked forward to Easter, made more wonderful by the preceding weeks of Lenten sacrifice and contemplation meant to make one a better person.

The solemnity of the Stations of the Cross every Friday evening in the darkened St. Francis of Assisi Church, which she attended first with her loving mother and father and caring brothers and sisters, and then as a teenager with her beau Johnny, and then as a spinster aunt with her adoring little nieces and nephews.

Mrs. Alfred Packer thought often of Johnny, now reaching retirement from the tire factory, golden years with a comfortable pension and domestic tranquility.

She tried to imagine what Johnny was doing right now, up there in Ohio, as she down in Oklahoma was cutting apart tough deadened rabbit carcasses; perhaps right at that very moment, Johnny was combing his luxurious black hair--Johnny was always such a handsome boy--as his wife preened herself, and the now-teenaged offspring spruced up themselves, for Easter Vigil services, in bright anticipation for the new life that comes in the morning.

to be coninued

[franksolich]

The rabbits unskinned, Mrs. Alfred Packer instinctively turned towards the refrigerator, meaning to cold-soak the meat before cooking it, but then stopped, remembering the refrigerator was jammed full with packages of other meat, wrapped in white butcher-paper and tied with twine.

She would have to cold-soak the rabbit cuts in the spring outside.

Mrs. Alfred Packer had not been able to use the refrigerator for some months now, as Wild Bill had glutted the appliance with those paper packages, to where he was now wondering if perhaps they should get a second refrigerator, and speculating where it could be put, in the crowded kitchen.

The casket-sized closed refrigerator always made Mrs. Alfred Packer shudder.

There had been the day the county sheriff dropped by, seeking to question Wild Bill about a methamphetimine still found out in the woods.  Mrs. Alfred Packer didn't know anything about that, but the sheriff was always kind to her, such a fine upstanding gentleman of the Baptist persuasion, and so handsome too.

Mrs. Alfred Packer had lived in rustic northeastern Oklahoma for twelve years now, but knew no one outside of Wild Bill's own family, as he had forbidden her to associate with the people of the area, roughly interrogating her after even minor "hello-how-are-you-have-a-nice-day" encounters at the grocery store.

"Just because they brush their teeth every day, and do Christmas, they have a mighty high opinion of themselves," Wild Bill reminded her; "I don't want you hanging around them."

But Mrs. Alfred Packer got lonely for human companionship and intercourse, and was especially so the day the sheriff called.  Seeking to keep the sheriff hanging around, she enticed him with idle chitchat.

At some point, the sheriff had mentioned bogus ten-dollar bills being passed around the area, and Mrs. Alfred Packer's heart quickened, but fortunately he had not asked to inspect the contents of her purse.

Instead, the sheriff's attention had been drawn to something else; a red liquid trickling from the bottom of the barely-closed refrigerator door.

Mrs. Alfred Packer suddenly noticed it too, and hastily said, "Oh, that's just deer Wild Bill shot; I guess I didn't deblood it enough."

The sheriff agreed that Wild Bill was "a good hunter, a great killer," and graciously touching the tip of his hat, gallantly took his leave.

Such a handsome man, Mrs. Alfred Packer oozed.

to be continued

[franksolich]

The sheriff's been coming around a lot more than he used to, thought Mrs. Alfred Packer, as she cracked eggs for supper.

When Mrs. Alfred Packer and Wild Bill had first been enjoying wedded bliss, the sheriff came around only once very few months, in pursuit of a clandestine methamphetimine still that Wild Bill didn't know anything about.

And then after she had taken a job in town, working in the kitchen of the local nursing home, bringing home $200 a week, which Wild Bill took from her, giving her an "allowance" of ten bucks per week, always paid with a crisp new $10 bill, the sheriff had started coming around more often, trying to find the passer of bad bills.

Mrs. Alfred Packer didn't mind; after all the sheriff was so handsome, so nice-smelling, so fit-and-trim, and what with him being one of those Baptists, so kind and gentle and caring about other people.

Mrs. Alfred Packer felt a recrudescence of the long-repressed libido, and had to sit down for a while, fanning herself while catching her breath.

She thought about the Federal Express deliveryman--a very young man, tall and thin and blond and sleek, and so very nice.  How she could barely restrain herself from forcing her body on him, when he came by to deliver that one package from a fellow primitive in Massachusetts.

But alas, the Federal Express deliveryman had mysteriously disappeared, not a trace of him to be found, shortly after that.  His abandoned Federal Express delivery van had been found by the side of the road six miles away, everything in it still there and intact excepting for the deliveryman.

The sheriff had combed the county, looking for clues, and one day shown up at the homestead of Mrs. Alfred Packer and Wild Bill, who were hosting a cookout for Wild Bill's family.

They all were there, around the fire, the Packer clan--Mrs. Alfred Packer, Wild Bill, Wild Bill's cacklling mother, Wild Bill's brother with both eyes on the same side of his nose, Wild Bill's brother with his lower jaw receding into his neck, chinless, Wild Bill's brother with a tongue larger than the inside of his mouth, Wild Bill's brother with no hair on his body, Wild Bill's sister with her teeth on the wrong side of her lips.

The chinless brother-in-law was exploring Mrs. Alfred Packer, his hand in under her dress, groping around to see what was in there.

Wild Bill had told the sheriff no, he didn't have the sllightest idea about the missing Federal Express deliveryman.  Mrs. Alfred Packer, wishing some aesthetic company, invited the sheriff to join the cookout, shish-kabobs, meat and vegetables on sticks burned over a roaring picnic fire.

"No, but thanks, ma'am," said the sheriff, touching the brim of his hat; "it looks good, but this doesn't seem the sort of food I'm used to dining on."

"Quit yik-yakking, and flap your jaws on the chow," Wild Bill ordered his wife.

While the rest of the Packer clan devoured their own speared meat-and-vegetables with avidity, the hairless brother-in-law almost swallowing the sticks themselves, all of them stonily grunting in subdued ecstasy, Mrs. Alfred Packer took her first bite.

She was new to this, not having had shish-kabobs in her life.

"Hmmm," she mumbled out loud; "this meat's really tender and nice and sweet, but I don't think I've ever tasted its kind before."

"Shaddup and eat, woman," said Wild Bill; "there's plenty for everybody, but it's best we eat it all."

to be continued

[franksolich]

Mrs. Alfred Packer's dreams about the Robert Redford-looking sheriff were interrupted by the putt-putt-putt of an old Ford pickup truck coming up to the door.

It was Wild Bill and his younger brother with the tongue too large for his mouth, and in the bed of the truck was a brand-new Sears, Roebuck refrigerator, about one and a half times the size of the one in the kitchen.

My, my, Mrs. Alfred Packer thought; where are they going to put it? as she hurriedly shifted the table around in the crowded kitchen.

Wild Bill, cigarette dangling from his mouth, got out of the driver's seat and came to inspect the doorway.  "It's going to be a tight squeeze, getting that in here, but we'll figure it out," he told his brother.  And then to Mrs. Alfred Packer, "get your fat ass out of the way, woman, so we have some room."

Mrs. Alfred Packer scurried over to stand by the couch on the other side of the room, pulling the wooden high-backed table-chairs with her, so that once Wild Bill and his brother maneuvered the new refrigerator into the kitchen, they could turn it around.

She was cornered, no exit, but she didn't worry about that.

The refrigerator, turned sideways, could fit through the door with about a quarter of an inch to spare on both sides, but the bigger problem was getting it in over the "bump" of the threshhold.  Wild Bill and his tongueful brother lifted and shifted and turned, but the "bump" on the floor was too high.

"We'll have to use the dolly to bring it in," Wild Bill finally said.

Since the new refrigerator was already blocking the door, and it would be too much to move it, Will Bill, inside the kitchen, ordered his brother, out on the porch, to attach the two-wheeler from his side, after which they would try to roll it up and in, Wild Bill pulling from the bottom, and his brother outside pushing it in.

Both men grunted and groaned and herniated, but the appliance was too heavy to go over the "bump."

"Damn," said Wild Bill, cussing up a storm.

The overly-endowed tongued brother outside had a bright idea, which he tried transmitting to Wild Bill, but Wild Bill didn't understand, thinking the bibbling and sputtering were just exertions.

As Wild Bill stepped back to contemplate the situation, his brother went into the cab of the pickup truck, turned on the motor, put it into reverse, and bammed! the refrigerator up and over the threshhold, blocking the doorway entirely, and shoving the stove away from the wall, snapping the natural-gas connection.

"What the !!#@?! !&#@!! !??*%@#!" Wild Bill swore, noticing only that the refrigerator was now jammed in the doorway, no way to move it in or out.

"I'm sorry!  I'm sorry!" Wild Bill's brother sobbed outside.

Wild Bill glared at his wife, huddled in the corner; his temper-tantrums were not anything Mrs. Alfred Packer especially enjoyed.

Calming down, Wild Bill said, "Give me a minute, give me a minute, I have to think," grabbing a new cigarette and striking a match.

The 4th of July came on Easter this year, there arising far into the atmosphere in the skies over seventeen counties of northeastern Oklahoma, southwestern Missouri, and northwestern Arkansas, plumes of towering white-and-black smoke, red flares, and the pop-pop-poppity-pop of blue sparkles, causing even the tortoises in the damp woods to scurry away in panic-stricken fear and terror.

the end   

[The Village Idiot]

Very very nice Frank!

[franksolich]

Very very nice Frank!

Thank you, but it was written in a hurry.  I always write a first draft of something, and then move on to writing a first draft of something else.  I just write, never refine.

Anyway, I think I'm going to move away from the holidays in the Packer household, and concentrate upon life-experiences, and the character, of Mrs. Alfred Packer.

I'm sure sooner or later I can turn all of this into a sex novel.

[The Village Idiot]

I'm sure sooner or later I can turn all of this into a sex novel.

*sputter*, *ack*, *choke*

[franksolich]

For lurking primitives, these are the other stories in the series:

"Christmas at Grandma's"

http://www.conservativecave.com/index.php/topic,38146.0/

The above was the story that the late lamented Tangerine LaBamba was going to critique for me, making suggestions so as to improve this first draft, but alas the late lamented Tangerine LaBamba left this time and place rather precipitously.

"St. Patrick's Day with Mrs. Alfred Packer and Wild Bill"

http://www.conservativecave.com/index.php/topic,41969.0/

The above was dedicated to the sparkling husband primitive.

[GOBUCKS]

I'm sure sooner or later I can turn all of this into a sex novel.

If that's your goal, you could start with the previous strange living arrangements of the large-nosed DUmmy chick rising phoenix and her housemates. Then, of course, we have DUmmy stevenumbers, whose life is a comical sex novel.

[Karin]

Nice work, Frank!  Very enjoyable read.  I may have one in the works myself. 

[AprilRazz]

If that's your goal, you could start with the previous strange living arrangements of the large-nosed DUmmy chick rising phoenix and her housemates. Then, of course, we have DUmmy stevenumbers, whose life is a comical sex novel.

I was going to recommend writing one about underground panther but I am not sure if coach is into science fiction.

[BlueStateSaint]

I was going to recommend writing one about underground panther but I am not sure if coach is into paranormal science fiction murder mysteries.

Fixed!