Scruffy Love 4; The Great Spirit of Scruff

If you'd like to read the other ones: Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

“Oh, Thurgood,” said Cassidy with tons and tons of love in her voice. “I can’t wait to get you alone and in the dark so that I may become naked. You too.”

“That’s right, honey crumpet,” said the extremely talented genius. “Then we may construct large quantities of love with our bodies. Naked.”

“You’re ever so much more studlier than that man to whom I used to cling like a lovestruck barnacle,” admitted Cassidy. She was not lying. Thurgood could see this in her eyes and on her stunningly lippy lips. Her cheeks were also coated with some form of sparkly dust, which made her prettier still. “In fact, I wish to help you bring about his destruction. Shall we take the steam-powered autobuggy that you crafted with your own prodigiously dexterous hands, or shall we travel on one of your pretty horses. They are prettier than Buck’s horses. By far. Buck’s horses have fleas and they smell very badly.” Cassidy swooned, and the very handsome Thurgood caught her just in time.

“Dang, I’m fast,” he remarked to her face, which had its eyes closed because she was happy. “As a matter of fact, why don’t we have a small morsel of sex to celebrate the truth of this fact?” said Thurgood, making an excellent suggestion. He slapped Cassidy roughly about the face to wake her from her temporary coma. She awoke and smiled vacuously up into Thurgood’s excessively handsome visage.

“Yes. YES!” she said, and took off her corset.

Thurgood, who also looked very good without clothes on, tugged loose his $#@Ac—

The sound of a warning klaxon bit into Thurgood Bastardson’s concentration like a vindictive goat, bringing his typing to a literally crashing halt. Grimacing, he separated the jammed hammers and let them fall back. He ripped the paper from the roller of his typewriter, balled it up and threw it into a corner.

“Curses, blast, and a thousand more curses!” he roared into the throat of his cave. His voice echoed around the dank stone labyrinth like evil balls of wax on the pitching deck of a ship bound for Heck. “The fairday celebrations have commenced! The townsfolk, the blasted stupid townsfolk! They’ll be out there, poking rabbits and frowning thoughtfully at cows. The frivolity! It makes my evil hackles become hackly!” He checked his pocket for his can opener and stomped over to his elevator.

* * *

Miles away, under the dreaming sky of a sunny September afternoon, Buck and Cassidy were laughing at the bunnies.

“Oh, Buck! Look at the darling white one here! See how pink his little nose is?” Cassidy crooned, poking a dainty finger into the rabbit’s cage. The animal was contentedly licking her fingertip.

“Aye, fair lady,” Buck agreed, patting her on the shoulder. “Almost red, like the center of a bullseye.” He secretly wished he had his rifle with him. “But take care that yon beastie doesn’t chew upon thy prettily manicured ladyclaws,” he gently chided.

“Oh, you’re such a practical manly man!” Cassidy laughed. She punched Buck playfully in the eye. “I want to go look at the ducks! Come with me,” she said, and gathered up her skirts. Buck chuckled to himself and followed. “Are you gazing longingly at my hypnotically swaying buttocks?” Cassidy asked with a giggle, looking back over her shoulder.

“Sure am!” said Buck with enthusiasm, and ran headfirst into a cow.

“This is the best Saturday ever!” declared Cassidy, prancing onward.

Buck picked himself up from the floor of the barn and dusted the straw off his man patties. He let loose a Snort of Studly Glee, and hurried after his darling.

They emerged from the bunny barn hand in hand, and walked leisurely along the gravel path that led to the ducks.

“It was ever such a good idea to come to the fair today, Buck,” said Cassidy with feeling. She clung to his muscular and lightly scarred forearm. “Those bunnies were adorable, the hayride was delightful, and I do believe there’ll be pie over at Old Man Grizzlebum’s place.”

“You forgot the goats, stickylips,” said Buck, and pinched her where the pinching was good.

“Ow! My elbow, you silly brute!”

“Haw!”

“Yes, I did forget the goats, didn’t I?” Cassidy admitted, pouting.

“Deee-licious,” said Buck, licking his muscular and lightly scarred lips.

Further ruminations on the deliciousness of the goats or the adorability of the bunnies were cut short. A cloud of dust had risen before the duck pens, obscuring them. The sounds of shouting men, laughing children and enraged quacking filled the air.

“By the spirit of scruff! Some bandit means to upset the fairday frivolity by ducknapping the ducks! Only one man would sink to such depths of craftery!” Buck shouted at the dust. His brow furrowed and his jaw set, he plunged into the cloud, dragging Cassidy along in his wake.

Things People Never Say

This could be construed as a copycat version of George Carlin's "Things You Never Want to Hear," but I'll choose to ignore that. This is my stuff, dang it. It could also just as well be titled "Things You Never Hear," but that might include sound effects too. That's not my aim. My aim is to be juuuust annoying enough to keep all you time-wasters from clearing your browser cache and deleting your bookmark.

You DO have us bookmarked, don't you?

Yes? Then let's continue.

If you ever hear anyone you know or love say any of these things, it may be time for you to reconsider your friendship or marriage options. If you happen to catch any of it on tape, any judge would side with you.

Okay. That's harsh. If you hear anyone you know or love say any of these things, then consider yourself lucky for knowing someone so...interesting.

• "Hey! This tastes like cat feet. Here! Try it!"
• Angry, from inside a public bathroom stall: "Green? What the--? They said it was supposed to be purple!"
  
• "Man, you guys get to barf all the time. When do I get my turn?"
• "There are little magic monkeys that live in my cell phone. I feed them grapes!"
• "Sometimes, when I'm driving, I like to pretend that I'm..." longish pause "...Driving."
• While looking down at your pants in a crowded supermarket: (loudly) "Wow! These things are just as comfortable backwards! Where's my calculator?"
• "Y'know, if it weren't for gravity, my eyes woulda been blue, and I coulda had grandma bake me a ferret cake. What? Yes, with yogurt. Hey, Larry? I gotta go. Yep. Pastor's lookin' at me all funny." (click)
• "Wow. Did you see the elbows on that girl? I think I be in love!"
• "He's a nice guy, but he's a little murdery. I think I'll keep my gold elsewhere."
• "Have you seen my cell phone monkeys? Magic? Like grapes..? No? Crap."
• "Y'know what's not nutritious? Carpet samples! No kidding!"
• "Kitten omelet. Buck fifty."

Thanks for indulging me, time-wasters. Now, for your homework assignment, I want you to go out to your favorite public place with a clipboard and stand around. Stare straight ahead, and scratch yourself every minute, on the minute. Wait until you've got a small, curious crowd, and then pick one of these things to say, and say it loudly. You can make up your own, if you'd like, but if you fall down afterwards, you get extra credit!

Don't say ol' Uncle FooDaddy don't look out fer ya.

Movie Lines That Almost Were

These are all lines from movie scripts that were either cut out or edited for the final draft of the screen play. Just think how much more memorable some of these films would have been, had the directors kept their dirty paws out of it.

1. “Play it again, Rodney.”
2. “The name’s Bach. Johann Bach.”
3. “Go ahead. Make my kilt.”
4. “May the horse be with you.”
5. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a wombat.”
6. “I coulda had gas! I coulda been a Pretender!”

These are just a few quotes I think should have remained in the script, and would have, without the directors' perpetual tampering. There are countless other examples, however. Perhaps you blogsters can come up with even more!

A World Full of Writers...Scary!

Maybe it's just me, I don't know, but it seems like the entire world wants to write. It isn't that I resent others wanting to write--I understand the desire!--but maybe if more people actually tried it, instead of standing around talking about it, there wouldn't be as many. Let me explain before I start sounding really nasty.

I'll be standing around somewhere (church, the store, etc.) and someone will say, "Hey, congratulations on your latest work" or "How's your new book coming along?" Then another bystander will say,"Are you a writer?"

I usually come back with something such as, "I like to think so."

Then they'll say, "I keep meaning to write a book, but I never can find the time."

Why does this annoy me so much? First of all, I don't believe there is such a thing as "finding the time." People do what they really want to do or what they force themselves to do. It isn't as if a big green monster is going to leap out of the closet at random moments and scream, "Me writing time! Be creative or I'll eat you!" If this was the case, more people would write and stop talking about it...either that or the writing monster would be really fat.

The second reason this annoys me is that I resent the implication that writing--good writing--is easy. People seem to think that, as soon as they have a free weekend, they're going to sit down and rattle off a bestseller or two. Ain't gonna happen, folks. Good writing takes hard work, practice, perserverance, sweat, blood, tears, computer crashes, and lots of milkshakes.

While we're on the subject, I would like to add another thing that annoys me. This is when people come up and inform me that they have a great book idea and all I have to do is write it and they will share the huge profits with me! My, how generous! Most of the time, the idea isn't anything spectacular. And even if it is, that doesn't mean it'll translate into a great story or book.

I guess people who don't write just don't understand the writing process. It isn't like turning on the sprinkler before flopping down in a hammock and getting up a couple hours later with a fully-developed story all green and lush. It's more like cutting inspiration out of granite with a nail file.

But, now that I have had my little rant, perhaps you all have things to add. Am I being ridiculous or do you other writer types experience similar feelings?

Riding Red in the Hood

So, dudes, I’m, like, walkin’ through this freakin’ forest. Ya’ know, with lots o’ trees and crap like that. It’s kind of a dangerous joint, kinda like rainforest meets ghetto and I’m feelin’ a little nervous ‘bout bein’ alone an’ vulnerable. Whoa, like, hold the friggin’ phone, people. I just used a totally ragin’ word. Didja hear it? I said…uh…. Well, anyway, there I was mindin’ my own schnozz, when this huge bugaboo, like a wolfy kind o’ creature, comes borglin’ out of an alleyway and stands in front o’ me wid this totally creepy look on his mug.

“Gimme your money or I’ll chew off your arm,” he says ta’ me. I decided he was feelin’ hostile.

“Like, shove it, you freak o’ nature,” I says. “The asylum closes at midnight.” I could tell he’s ticked off ‘bout that and he starts snarlin’ and makin’ these weird guttural (there I go again, like, whoa!) noises in his throat.

“Gimme your money or I’ll chew off your arm,” he says again. This time he says it a bit louder and the growlin’ gets deeper down in his throat.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” I says. “Ain’t comfy.”

He, like, glares at me and, I ain’t makin’ this up, blushes. “You keep my delicates outta this,” he says, and stomps his foot. “Gimme your money or…”

“Yeah, yeah,” I says. “You’ll chew off my arm. Look, wouldn’t ya rather have this basket o’ goodies I’m carryin’? Maybe follow me home and eat my grandma?”

The wolf looks interested. “Grandmother?”

“Yeah, ya’ know,” I says. “Old lady, white hair, glasses, kindly, great cook, plump…”

“Plump?” The wolf’s eyes light up. He’s diggin’ this.

“Totally,” I says. “I wouldn’t lie ta’ yous.”

The wolf licks his chops and it occurs ta’ me that maybe I shouldn’t o’ given him that kinda information. But, it’s totally late for worryin’, so I lead the wolf ta’ granny’s pad and knock on the door. She opens the door and acts all happy ta’ see me and even invites in the wolf. Because the old bat ain’t wearin’ her glasses, she thinks it’s a new friend o’ mine.

Soon she learns her mistake, when she puts on her specs and sees this slobberin’ wolf gazin’ at her wid a look o’ hunger.

“Whoa, dude,” she says, “those are some kinda ears ya’ got there. Meanin’ no disrespect.”

“None taken,” says the wolf. “I just keep ‘em around so I’se can hear ya’ better.”

“Well, then ya’ got big eyes, too,” says granny.

“The better ta' see ya’ with,” says the wolf.

“Huge fangs, there,” says granny.

The wolf gives out a big howl and rubs his tum. “I’m gonna, like, so eat you up!” he says.

Well, granny gives a shriek and tries ta’ make it out the door, but the wolf snags her by the apron and drags her back. I turn around so I can’t see dis part, but I can tell by the belches that granny must’a been good eatin’.

‘Bout this time, the door flies open and a woodsman stands there wid an axe.

“Unhand the old broad,” he says, showin’ no class whatsoever.

The wolf belches again and smiles kinda smug. “Ain’t gonna do it,” he says. “I done ate her and that’s that, ya’ has-been.”

This remark makes da’ woodsman ticked off an’ he whacks the wolf with his axe, cuts him clean open, he does. Granny spills out on the floor, filthy, but none the worse for wear, and throws herself on the woodsman.

“I want ya,” she says, “like, right now!”

I don’t wanna see the rest o’ this, so I heads outside and goes home, takin’ the basket o’ goodies wid me. Granny’s got treats of her own.