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LARDS PART 1 CHAPTER 2
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Posted by regulators Mon Aug 14, 2006 21:12:57 PDT
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0 responses 3 comments LARDS PART 1                                                      
CHAPTER 2  -EDITED  FOR FAMILY READING-

 (Geeting to Bakersfield,  known as the Moon-pie® Mecca. )


“Hey fat boy, want some chow?” came a voice from an ice cream - snack truck that had just pulled up. Fatty stood in the burger parking lot, his hands in his left pocket, belly hunched, and with the hungry look on his face that Chubsy told him to always have. “Be the damn Porky Pig ®”
Chubsy had told him. 

“Who?”

“I dunno. Some dead cartoon pig with a star on the WB ® toons walk of fame.”

“What kind of snacks you got?” Fatty said hogishly to the driver/vendor.

“I got the sweet, carbo stuff. I got twinkies-soft and sweet. Whatever. You look like an obese kid, kinda hungry though”

“Oh I ain’t hungry. I am full! That last 24 pack of ding-dongs hit the spot.” 

“Maybe you’re hungry for something moon shaped?”       

At that point the snack truck driver made his move, “Okay fat boy, no more messin’ around.  Get in the back of the truck.  The Mayor of Bakersfield is holding a Moon-pie ® eating contest at the Bakersfield bell tower tomorrow and I need you to win it for me!”  
                                       
“Fatty looked astounded, why didn’t you just say so!”  And into the rear of the snack truck, it listed to the lft, it was a converted old Helms Bakery ® jobber,  . The truck sped off like a bat out off hell, nicely packed, to hold in freshness and goodness,  food snacks were flying everywhere.    At one time, not long ago, a fleet of 300 Helms Bakery ® vans cruised the neighborhoods of the Los Angeles area summoning people with their distinctive whistles to purchase bread and pastries. The center of this operation was the Helms Bakery ® building on Venice Boulevard in Culver City (still located there with original Helms logo ®). The company, founded by Paul Helms in 1931, eventually succumbed to competition from emerging supermarkets and closed in 1969. Still today, an independently operated former Helms Bakery ® truck, perhaps the last, cruises the neighborhoods of Montebello, tooting its whistle and offering bread and pastries.

The old truck was jamming, I think it might have hit 45 mph on one decline near Lake Castaic. Was it the truck or the extra ballast? No one will ever know for sure.  It was getting late and the odd couple had just reached the summit of the 5 Interstate on the Grape-vine. It was the darkest night they had ever seen. A huge fart rattled the thin van walls.  The driver, whom had by now introduced himself as Nick Baldass (Baldy for short), was horrified by the flatulency and asked, “do you have to pinch a loaf boy?”  “ Oh yeah” said Fatty, and I can’t wait!”  Baldy quickly swerved off the nearest off-ramp with brakes and tires screeching and smoking.  Hey there is this old fort, Fort Tajon ®,  over there that has a one holer, but we got to get on the road again if we want to get a room at the Padre. Fatty had to pinch so bad and the fart gas was so thick in the back of the truck that he started to hallucinate.  “Hey Mr. Baldy! I think there is an old Indian, with painted feet, a ghost back here with me and he’s eaten all the Ding Dongs and, and, and.... the last box of Quisp ® cereal.    

The truck game to rest on a dirt berm just outside the fort. Fatty leapt out of the back of the van with nearly supper human capacities and ran through the darkness toward the fort’s gate.  “Its’ locked, ” yelled Fatty ® , he was screaming and crying.  He took of quickly to the left like a tight end and jammed through the small ravine and through the muddy stream. One of Fatty’s feet sunk deep into the mud.  When he took the next running step he had one shoe on and one shoe off, one muddy sock.     When he came out of the brush he was on a straight spring across the lawn to the vague silhouette of an Andy Gump in the darkness. He leaped into the out-house- ripped a big one and the sides vibrated for several seconds. Before he could see any action he felt something move against his butt cheek. He hopped up and flicked on his lighted and looked down the hole.
Slap!!! A huge bull frog had mistaken Fatties flatulence for a frog mating call and      leaped vigorously onto Fatties face and had a death grip. The frog commenced humping fatties face, his left nostril to be exact.    Fatty jumped back with such horror and fear that the door, with hinges, latches, and all flew out with him and hit the mud like bobsled.   Fatty sledded down the pitch dark, muddy embankment with a full mooned booty  and a frog stuck to his face. Smashing into an old cannon send Fatty airborne splashing down square in a mound of horse apples. The frog, finished with his business, hopped off Fatties face as if to go light a cigaret. Fatty looked up to see
Baldy hovering over him with a flash light, he had heard Fatty’s muffled screams though the out-house walls. Baldy looked down at Fatty amidst the mud and the chirping crickets and began rambling on about the small bugs; “Dude did you know male crickets rub their wings together to attract females. You can measure the air temperature to within a few degrees by listening to a chirping cricket and applying a simple mathematical formula.
 
   
1.      Count the number of times that the cricket chirps in 14 seconds.
 
2.      Add 40 to this number. This will be the air temperature in degrees 
         Fahrenheit.   

It’s pretty cold up here dude!”  Baldy stood and watched as Fatty was forced to get up and recover on his own. Drawers still around his ankles, covered with mud and one shoe on and one dirty sock. He mad to the can and finished up his business, all the while Baldy listening to himself ramble on.  “Oh yeah dude, I got a perfect ding dong box you can have as a shoe”....   

Back in the van the dudes were heading down the vine, just before they hit the flats they could pick up Bakersfield Radio and crackling and fuzzy rendition of Homer Joy’s classic Buck Owens ® tune “Streets of Bakersfield”® , The dudes sang wildly along as they blazed down the dark grade
into the Valley, Fatty keepin’ time with his new Ding Dong ® box shoe. . 
 
                                               
Next week : Bakersfield welcomes the dudes.
















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Comment From: thenovelist

This is getting better by the second. I can't wait to read how despicable Nick Baldass gets... Comment From: twinkie

do you think I'll win an Oscar for my soft and sweet cameo? Comment From: matt

Whoa, Nelly!!