And now for a brief fictional interlude:
The Flaccid Twonks of Stink Creek
Thelma here, after a long dry spell in Stink Creek, with lots to share. We had a bit of excitement this summer. We had four old-timers convinced that the lack of rain was to blame for their lack of mojo. Mamma H had the Raisin show them how to get that back to working order with a short visit up to the Sister's, but it didn't do no good at all. They kept sitting in a circle at town square muttering to each other for most of the day.
The town council bought went crazy from concerned citizens pestering them about the old-timers, who'd grown up and grown old belonging to an exclusive team called the Twonks. Louise and I, we grew up with the twonks, and we never could figure out quite what they meant by the term, but as we got older we decided it must have had something to do with being right assholes, because that's all they ever were.
We were lucky enough, as a town, that the twonks kept to themselves, muttering over the years into their beers. But this last year, things have gone down hill, and they've gotten worse than Willa and her tendency to hide on people's decks and hollerin boo at them when they came out to get their papers. They've decided it's their job to police the town for compliance of town rules. They went to the library and found our original town charter and are going around and attempting to enforce it.
Well, what could the council do? What with the lining up right behind Willa with their clipboards and their muttering in the town square, no rain, lots of heat, and Louise's seniors seriously bent out of shape because Louise skedaddled to Vegas for the summer to run a series of workshops there, Edna and I were drafted to tackle what Stink Creek citizens were now calling the flaccid twonks and see if we couldn't help heal their mojo before the town ran them out.
Edna's husband was just glad to get her out of the house, and I've been bored silly since Louise went to Vegas and the emperor decided to take a mess of students to Rome for a grand tour. Mamma H and the raisin are so busy making the best of their remaining days they aren't fit for conversation and the damned raccoon went off to the woods again on me, due to an unfortunate incident involving Mamma H, her walker, and the raisin's amorous pursuit.
So since the Sister's hadn't managed to rouse the flaccid twonks, (go figure), Edna and I decided we'd do a rain dance down at the town square and see how many of them town ordinances we could break at the same time. Ya'll picture the lovely Lieutenant Uhura in that movie where Kirk asked "god" what he needed with a space ship, and you'll know what we did.
We got us one of them old boom boxes that Louise still has from the 80s and her flash dance music, and we set up a little tent near the town statue, and we got all nekkid and greased up...We put in that flash dance sound track, got it blaring, having warned the townsmembers to stay home since we were going to be all exposed and such. While we were doing that, Willa set up some sprinklers high up on the statue that the flaccid twonks wouldn't see. Edna and me sat there in that tent in our finest, so to speak, and waited for the twonks to show up.
Lord, we got sweaty, and then Edna pulled out her flask, and we got drunk while we waited. And then the flaccid twonks showed up, muttering about the music and wondering where everyone was. Willa was cackling behind the statue.
Edna lurched up, smacked me on the ass (which I thought was rather rude), and out she went, up to the first flaccid twonk, and she began shimmying, shaking and, well, let's be fair, wobbling and bobbing. It was not, I fear, a pretty sight. I brought the flask out with me, handed it over to the second twonk, who dropped his clipboard.
I had forgotten to take off my combat boots. Well, perhaps I was not a pretty sight, either, but I nodded at twonk two and turned to three and four and started gyrating to "Lady, Lady, Lady" while I hoped like hell Willa would quit cackling and turn the sprinklers on.
Two more songs in, the twonks were all standing there watching us, grinning for the first time this year, and the rain still wasn't falling.
Lordamighty, there was thunder, though, and lots of it as Edna and I got to going. The weight of the world that we'd been carrying all our years was making thunder and had the twonks looking to the sky for lightning. And then the rain fell. And it wasn't Willa's doing. She'd collapsed in a colossal giggle fit.
Lordy. The rain fell. And the lightning came. The thunder ceased to be our making, and the twonks, bless their shriveled hearts, were no longer flaccid.
And that, dear friends, is how Louise found me when she pulled back into town. She's promised she'll never leave me alone again.