THE GRAND FINALE
Vol. 2, No. 2
Prude alert:
Entire issue rated PG35
CONTENTS
(in scroll-down order)
SIT AND DELIVER
by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative
Solomon Birnbaum, 109, the oldest resident ever at the Walden Puddle Grudgingly Assisted Living Facility, has had it with unproductive trips to the bathroom. Because his prayers to "make a good one" have gone unanswered for 56 years, Solomon converts to Christianity. A different kind of Christmas story. Share it with your kids.
THE BEARS OF WALDEN PUDDLE
by Dr. Ursula Whipple
Gathering as a two-person extended family on Thanksgiving Day, Ms. Priscilla Whipple and her daughter Ursula pull on a joint and talk about the men in their lives.
WALDEN PUDDLE: YOU ARE THERE
by the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker
On a cold, dark, rainy, miserable November day in 1904, the Old Galvanized Bucket arrived in Walden Puddle. It didn't stay long.
THE TALK OF WALDEN PUDDLE
reportage from the Agreeable Doughnut Cafe
In the 106 football games between the two high schools, the Walden Puddle Purple Finches have never scored a point against the Migratory Elk of Copious Falls. This year, after a century of trying, they finally scored a point (sort of). PLUS: The farewell oration of Walden Puddle itself.
SIT AND DELIVER
A DIFFERENT KIND
OF CHRISTMAS STORY
by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative
Listen. Solomon Birnbaum has a problem.
There is no delicate way to put this: Solomon has not made a satisfactory trip to the bathroom for 65 years. The fact that no one believes him only makes it worse.
Solomon began complaining about "extreme sluggishness" when he was 44 years old. He complained so much that on his 45th birthday, Solomon's children placed him in a nursing home.
In 1946, at age 45, Solomon was the youngest resident ever at the Walden Puddle Grudgingly Assisted Living Facility. Now, at 109, he was the nursing home's oldest resident ever.
One day in December 2010, Solomon was spending the afternoon as usual, seated in the men's room, moaning and praying for help.
"Oyyyyyy," said Solomon. "Oyyyyyy."
By chance, the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette was in the men's room at the same time, working on his comb-over. Rev. Bisonnette visited the Grudgingly Assisted Living Facility five times a week on the pretext of pastoral duty. In fact, he came by mainly to demonstrate "the laying on of hands" to the nurses.
"Oyyyyy," said Solomon.
"Are you in pain, my son?" said Rev. Bisonnette.
"Lord?" said Solomon. "Is that you? At last?"
"I am not the Lord!" said the Rev. Bissonnette. "We're just good friends!"
"Papa?" said Solomon. "Is that you, Papa? Have you come to get me?"
"I ain't your daddy, either!" huffed Rev. Bisonnette. Twenty-five paternity suits had made him very touchy about words like papa and daddy.
"I can't make ..." said Solomon.
Rev. Bissonnette understood instantly. More often than he liked, he had the same problem.
"How long has this gone on, my son?" he said.
"Sixty-five years, Daddy."
"I ain't your daddy!" barked the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette. "But sweet mother of pearl!... Sixty-five years?"
"Yes," said Solomon. "Today is my sixty-fifth anniversary."
"Then I shall heal you," promised Rev. Bisonnette. "No man should suffer such as thee havest ... or thou hastest ... or whatever."
The next morning, Rev. Bisonnette was sitting at Solomon Birnbaum's bedside, amid an array of high-fiber breakfast cereals.
"Your name is Sullivan Barnboomer?" said Rev. Bisonnette, reading Solomon's chart at a fourth-grade level.
"Solomon Birnbaum," corrected Solomon.
"Sullivan Barnboomer," said Rev. Bisonnette. "Is that a Norwegian name?"
"No. I'm a Jew," said Solomon.
"You're a WHAT?" said Rev. Bisonnette.
"I'm a Jew."
"Holy sh ... mokes," whispered Rev. Bisonnette. "I'm not allowed to help the Hebrew people," he told Solomon. "I can only help the saved."
"I used to save," said Solomon. "When I had a little left over, I would invest."
"I'm speaking about your soul, sir! Salvation!" said Rev. Bisonnette. "Follow me, Mr. Sullivan Barnboomer, and ye shall have a condo in the mansions of the righteous ... and outstanding bowel movements while you wait for a vacancy!"
"Whatever you say, Christian rabbi," said Solomon. "I just want to make a good one."
"And so you shall, sir! So you shall! But first, we must baptize you into the choirs of the saints!"
For the next three weeks, Solomon studied Christianity as understood by the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette.
Solomon learned, for example, that St. Augustine had written Gone With the Wind, but that he had been cheated out of the movie rights by Samuel L. Goldwyn.
He learned that Mother Teresa had hosted a French-cooking show on PBS, but that she had been cheated out of the rights to Close Encounters of the Third Kind by Steven Spielberg, and the rights to Hoosiers by Red Auerbach.
After three weeks of similar religious instruction, Solomon knew everything the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette did about Christianity.
He was now ready to be baptized.
Rev. Bisonnette found a half-empty can of Dr. Pepper in the recreation room. He would later bill the can as twenty cases when turning in his expense account.
He poured a few drops of Dr. Pepper into his hand, patted Solomon on the head with it, and said, "Salvation is yours, my son! Welcome to the Walden Puddle Church of the Definitely Saved! As for thy relalcitrant bowels ... consider thyself healed!"
"Thank you, Christian rabbi," said Solomon. "I'm glad I'm not a Jew anymore."
The next morning Rev. Bisonnette was back at Solomon's bedside. "So? What happened?" he asked delicately.
"Nothing," said Solomon.
"You didn't ..."
"I didn't ..."
"Not even a tiny ..."
"Nothing."
"Your demons are mighty, Mr. Barnboomer," said Rev. Bisonnette, "but we shall vanquish them!" He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a pamphlet titled "Exorcisms for All Occasions Including Constipation."
Rev. Bisonnette laid both his hands on Solomon's lower abdomen and shouted, "Leave him, evil ones! I command thee, leave him! Leave him, I say!"
"Nothing," said Solomon.
"Leave him!" shouted the Rev. Bisonnette. "Leave him! I command thee!"
"Nothing," said Solomon.
"Leave this man, impacted doo-doo! Loose thyself!"
"Nothing."
"I command thee!" bellowed Rev. Bisonnette. "Leave him! L-o-o-o-o-o-s-s-s-s-e thyself!"
"Nothing."
Exhausted and sweating, Rev. Bisonnette slumped in a chair.
At that moment, the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker, pastor of Walden Puddle's First Unitarian Meeting House, came walking down the hall, holding a large baking tray. Rev. Bisonnette despised Dr. Walker and her liberal theological views.
For her part, Dr. Walker wasn't sure exactly who Rev. Bisonnette was.
"Good morning, Reverend," said Dr. Walker, noting Rev. Bisonnette's clerical collar.
"Ignorant slut," whispered Rev. Bisonnette. "Good morning!" he boomed. "Whatcha got there in that baking tray?"
"Mrs. Agnes Stuart's wild mushroom cobbler with homemade elderberry preserves," said Dr. Walker.
"You come to do some mercy killing with that?" joked Rev. Bisonnette.
"Exactly," said Dr. Walker. "We Unitarians do mercy killings all the time. And seeing as how today is Christmas ..."
"Hey, lady!" Solomon Birnbaum called out. "That smells delicious!"
"Would you like some?" asked Dr. Walker.
"Please," said Solomon. "It smells like Grandma's rugala."
"Help yourself," said Dr. Walker, cutting Solomon a large slice.
Solomon greedily bolted down Mrs. Agnes Stuart's wild mushroom cobbler. Two hours later ... to the amazement of all ... he was still alive. Moreover, his constipation was permanently cured, and he had converted to Unitarianism.
In the meantime, four other residents of the Walden Puddle Grudgingly Assisted Living Facility had died from eating the same dessert.
"I can't explain it," said Dr. Walker. "Maybe miracles do happen. Maybe there is a God." She shuddered at the thought. As a Unitarian, she found the idea loathsome.
The Rev. Alvin Bisonnette watched in dismay as Dr. Walker and Solomon strolled off to the solarium. "I'll teach you all about Unitarianism," she told Solomon. "It'll only take five minutes. You'll love Unitarianism. It's so easy to do. We have a first-rate theater group and many other activities."
The Rev. Alvin Bisonnette sulked in his chair. "Some Christmas this turned out to be," he pouted. "I liked him better as a Jew."
To learn how the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette became a man of the cloth in the first place, click http://OnWaldenPuddle.blogspot.com/ and scroll to the November 26, 2009, issue. The feature story in that issue recounts the whole sordid saga.
THE BEARS OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
Notes from the Field, Plus Expert Advice
by Dr. Ursula Whipple
Field Notes. November 26, 2010: Okay, so on Thanksgiving I did what I always do. I hijacked a Stove Top truck, and I spread 800 pounds of Stove Top on the ground for my bears. They don't mind that it's dry. They drool when they see it, so the bear drool provides the moisture.
For "dessert" I shot them in the ass with tranquilizer darts. Twice their usual dose. Boy do they love it when I double up like that.
Then I had to go over to Priscilla's for dinner, except I couldn't find my deodorant ... it's been awhile ... so I rubbed some Stove Top into my armpits and I moistened it with Jim Beam.
It had a very nice kind of thyme-y smell to it, augmented by the grainy fragrance of the liquor.
I must remember to wear it on a date ... if I like the guy ... which is highly unlikely ... but anyhow ...
I drank what was left of the Jim Beam -- because there's no way in hell I'm going to Priscilla's for Thanksgiving without fortifying myself.
First thing Priscilla says when she sees me is, "Well?"
I know what she means by that. She means, "Are you engaged yet?"
"No," I said.
"Spinster," she whispers ... but loud, so I can hear it.
"Well, what about you?" I said. "What does that make you?"
"We didn't have spinsters in the Sixties," she said. "Nobody got married. We just screwed like hamsters."
"You still have the hots for Adlai Stevenson," I said to her.
"I do indeed. What of it?"
"Nothing," I said. It's best not to start Priscilla off on Adlai Stevenson.
"Hottest man ever," she says.
Anyhow, we rolled a pre-dinner joint and we were passing it back forth, and as usual Priscilla was Bogart-ing the joint, but I said nothing, and then she says ...
"What about that nice Russian fella who keeps asking you for a date?"
"Sergei?" I said.
"Is he really?" she said. "I though he was straight."
"He is straight," I said. "He's also broke, flabby, smelly, and he never shaves."
"And he might say the the same about you, daughter."
"Thank you, Priscilla," I said.
"You're welcome, Ursula," she said.
And we went on like that for six hours. Smoking weed and being catty. Boy am I glad Thanksgiving only comes once a year.
So when I got home, I see there's another e-mail from Sergei -- along with a full-frontal nude photo of him -- which is something totally new. He's coming to North America for a big French-Canadian Bear Conference in Quebec, he says, and he'd like to drive down to Walden Puddle and "get to know you [meaning me] more intimately."
And as I'm reading this, I'm wondering, "Did he doctor that picture? Is that thing really possible?"
Now you have to remember, Priscilla had some very potent weed for Thanksgiving this year, so I was even more stoned than when I defended my Ph.D. thesis at Central Montana Normal, and so I wrote back to Sergei ...
"See you soon, Secretariat. Bring chocolates."
You have to remember, I was really stoned.
I still have time to get out of this I think.
Dr. Ursula Whipple is a freelance animal behaviorist and a contributing editor of Walden Puddle. Since 1990, she has lived in an abandoned cabin near town, studying the local bear population and being studied by them in turn. Often referred to, by herself and her mother, as the "Jane Goodall of the North Woods," she shares her field notes with us regularly because no scholarly journal will publish them.
WALDEN PUDDLE:
YOU ARE THERE
November 16, 1904:
The Legend of
the Old Galvanized Bucket
by the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker
For over a century, the winner of the annual football grudge match between the high schools of Walden Puddle and Copious Falls has earned the right to keep the "Old Galvanized Bucket" in their trophy case for a year. Since Copious Falls leads the series 106-0, the bucket has never left the Copious Falls trophy case. There are countless legends about the origins of the Old Galvanized Bucket. None of them are true. However, according to the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker, author of this column, the following version contains the fewest lies.
Early in November 1904, a French-Canadian fur trapper named Unfortunate Pierre got lost and wandered aimlessly across the border into Vermont. Just as aimlessly, Unfortunate Pierre wandered into Walden Puddle.
To Unfortunate Pierre, who had spent his entire life in the woods murdering animals, walking into Walden Puddle was like walking into Paris.
Unfortunate Pierre was carrying an old galvanized bucket. It was his only worldly possession. He had won it in a game of French-Canadian Hold 'Em poker, after having been convinced by the bucket's former owner that the Old Galvanized Bucket was far more valuable than money.
Not having been with a woman for 37 years (he was 37), and believing himself to be the owner of the most valuable object in the world, Unfortunate Pierre went straight to Diamond Lil's, whose rooms, with their various "waitresses," offered commmanding views of an adjacent brick wall, plus great conversation with the girls.
In those days, in the foyer of Diamond Lil's, there hung a sign whose thinly veiled rhymes catered to the propriety of the age. For example:
"Rhymes with map dance ... 50 cents"
"Rhymes with missionary petition ... $1"
"Rhymes with snow job ... $2"
Unfortunate Pierre picked out the prettiest little tart then in Diamond Lil's employ. This was Megan Miller's great-great-grandmother, Horacia Stoneham. [For more on Megan Miller, see the November 9, 2009, issue.]
"Mon dieu!" said Unfortunate Pierre. "I take zis one, wiz ze big derriere!"
After they had finished their conversation upstairs, Unfortunate Pierre came down the great spiral staircase to settle up with Diamond Lil.
He handed Diamond Lil the Old Galvanized Bucket.
"What the fuck is this, dumbass?" said Diamond Lil.
"Zis is ze Old Galvanized Bucket," said Unfortunate Pierre, "and it is l'objet plus cher en tout le monde ... ze mos' valuable object in ze whole world! The previous owner, he tell me so himself."
"You carrying any real money, asshole?" demanded Diamond Lil.
"Mais non," said Unfortunate Pierre. "In ze North Woods, we 'ave no need for ze money."
Diamond Lil sized up the situation. Standing in front of her, offering her an Old Galvanized Bucket in payment for services rendered, was, as she would later write in her memoirs, "the dumbest Canuck I had ever seen."
Some days, Diamond Lil mumbled to herself, you just can't win. And this was one of those days.
She accepted the Old Galvanized Bucket from Unfortunate Pierre.
Diamond Lil's next client was the principal of Walden Puddle High School, Mr. Horace Whipple, whose descendants include several Whipples in the Walden Puddle area today.
After his conversation with a "waitress" upstairs, Mr. Whipple came down the great spiral staircase and paid Diamond Lil normally, in American money.
The problem was, he only had a $20 gold piece in his pocket, a huge sum in those days.
"I'm sorry, Lil," he said. "I guess I just got too lucky at poker last night. Would you happen to have change?"
"Why, yes, I do, Mr. Whipple," said Diamond Lil. "I have the most valuable object in the world."
She showed him the Old Galvanized Bucket.
With his mind still distracted by the excellent "snow job" he had received, Mr. Horace Whipple instantly concurred. "By golly!" he said. "That bucket is beautiful."
"Can I give it to you as change for your $20 gold piece?" said Diamond Lil.
"Absolutely!" said Mr. Whipple, feeling a bit guilty. He had been coming to Diamond Lil's every week for a snow job since he was 14, and he didn't like the idea that he was taking advantage of her.
But what a deal ...
He couldn't walk away from it ...
He accepted the Old Galvanized Bucket as change for his excellent snow job, and he took it back to school with him.
For convenience, he placed the Old Galvanized Bucket in the trophy case of Walden Puddle High School. The trophy case was empty at that time, just as it is today.
Word of the Old Galvanized Bucket in the Walden Puddle trophy case quickly reached Copious Falls, whose townsfolk issued a challenge:
"Let our young warriors decide this ownership dispute on the football field," they said.
In fact, there was no ownership dispute. The Old Galvanized Bucket was indisputably the property of Mr. Horace Whipple and Walden Puddle High School.
But Mr. Whipple was already daydreaming about his next snow job at Diamond Lil's, so he assumed that Copious Falls' challenge had legal substance.
The first football game between the Purple Finches of Walden Puddle High School and the Migratory Elk of Copious Falls took place on November 16 of that very year, 1904. As noted in "The Talk of Walden Puddle" [November 9, 2009, issue] Copious Falls won that first game by a score of 84-0.
The Migratory Elk of Copious Falls triumphantly took home the Old Galvanized Bucket ... the most valuable object in the world ... and it has not left their trophy case in the 106 years since.
How does the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker, author of this column and pastor of Walden Puddle's First Unitarian Meeeting House, know the entire history of Walden Puddle in such vivid detail? Click http://onwaldenpuddle3.blogspot.com/ and scroll to the Special Arbor Day Issue, published April 30, 2010. The feature story, "I Need a Hug," reveals the source of her uncanny historical memory.
THE TALK OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
On November 20, in the 107th renewal of their bitter football rivalry, the winless Walden Puddle Purple Finches met the unbeaten state champion Migratory Elk of Copious Falls in Copious Falls' Pierpont Morgan Stadium.
With 35,000 ergonomically designed, electrically heated seats and 24 luxury boxes, the "Morgue," as it's known in Copious Falls, has been hailed as "the largest and most luxurious high school football stadium in America" by USA Today.
Curiously, the Walden Puddle Tattler reported before the game that local bookies had installed the Walden Puddle Purple Finches as 5-point favorites. Why, we wondered?
"It was a typo," said a local bookie who met with us at the Agreeable Doughnut, on the condition that he not to be identified as Irving Weiss, Walden Puddle's only C.P.A. "We distinctly phoned in: Copious Falls minus 95 and a half. Those idiots at the Tattler ruined our lives."
Thanks to the typo, the Purple Finches failed to cover the spread by 106 points, a new record. The final score was Copious Falls 102, Walden Puddle 1.
Walden Puddle's single point came about through another mistake. After a bench-clearing brawl in which 25 Walden Puddle players and coaches suffered serious injuries -- while no player or coach from Copious Falls sustained a scratch -- the teams lined up for the extra point at the wrong end of the field.
The kick was good, and one point went up on the scoreboard for Walden Puddle.
It was the first point ever scored by Walden Puddle in the 106-year history of the rivalry.
Walden Puddle coach Bill Router resigned immediately after the game, citing his broken jaw as "sufznt czz" (sufficient cause). He plans to enter a Trappist monastery and never to speak again, even after his jaw is unwired.
Wait till next year!
Be purple! Go Finches!
NEXT POST: The Second Coming
(so don't hold your breath)
FAREWELL ORATION
Just like all good things, all average to below-average things must come to an end, too. This was the last issue of Walden Puddle. If you read it, you'll agree: We've gone into the toilet. It's time to call it a day.
There were 17 issues of WP in all. Each one remains etched in the memory of Google's supercomputers. If you want to read, or in rare cases reread, WP, you can find those 17 issues at ...
http://onwaldenpuddle.blogspot.com/ (Vol. 1, 1-5)
http://onwaldenpuddle2.blogspot.com/ (Vol. 1, 6-10)
http://onwaldenpuddle3.blogspot.com/ (Vol. 1, 11-15)
http://onwaldenpuddle4.blogspot.com/ (Vol. 2, 1-2)
As global warming gets worse and Labrador becomes a popular beach destination, you might find yourself passing through Walden Puddle on your way north.
Stop by the Walden Puddle Gift Shop, where all the stock clerks are too busy writing screenplays to price anything, so all the merchandise is free. Please wipe your feet on the dog as you enter. That's why we adopted him.
Adios.
The Management
Walden Puddle Gift Shop
All printed matter in this issue of Walden Puddle copyright © 2010 Walden Puddle Gift Shop. All rights reserved. All photos reproduced with permission. Original artwork courtesy of Aytsan.
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AUTUMN 2010
Vol. 2, No. 1
CONTENTS
(in scroll-down order)
THE DAY WALDEN PUDDLE STOOD STILL
by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative
Extraterrestrials from the planet Flatula abduct 25 Walden Puddlers and 15 bears for aptitude testing. The fate of the human race hangs in the balance.
THE BEARS OF WALDEN PUDDLE
by Dr. Ursula Whipple
Can computer dating work a miracle for Dr. Whipple? Can anything work a miracle for Dr. Whipple?
WALDEN PUDDLE: YOU ARE THERE
by the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker
Have you ever wondered what sparked the bitter rivalry between Walden Puddle and Copious Falls? Well, start wondering, because that's what this piece is about.
THE TALK OF WALDEN PUDDLE
reportage from the Agreeable Doughnut Cafe
Has Walden Puddle, after 10 years of frustration and rejection, finally found a sister city?
THE DAY WALDEN PUDDLE STOOD STILL
(from The Walden Puddle Chronicles)
by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative
At 3 a.m. on the morning of Labor Day 2010, an enormous spacecraft from the planet Flatula hovered silently above Walden Puddle. Aboard it were a crew of 1,500 Flatulan Space Marines and 145 psychologists. Their mission: To abduct 40 Earth creatures and test them for intelligence and occupational aptitudes. If the Earth creatures passed the tests, the Flatulans planned to enslave the entire human race.
We'll come back to that.
First let's learn about the planet Flatula.
By an amazing coincidence, humanlike creatures began to evolve on Flatula 4 million years ago, just as they did on earth. The dominant life form on Flatula looks just like we do, and -- by a truly amazing coincidence -- they all have British names like Smith and Jones and Burns and Allen.
The big difference is: They're a lot richer than we are.
They are also extremely lazy. They solve that problem by enslaving the populations of other planets.
Life is comfortable on Flatula, if predictable. Flatula's men can always be found doing one of three things: playing golf, showing off their extensive private libraries, or pinching the butts of cocktail waitresses.
The women of Flatula, when they aren't playing golf, showing off their private libraries, or boozing at poolside, are interviewing muscular, shirtless college-boy gardeners for landscaping work and other duties.
Flatulans are obsessed with golf. Many play from dawn to dusk -- an impressive feat, since a day on Flatula lasts 156 hours.
Also, thanks to a lucky mutation in their DNA, Flatulans have livers like battle tanks. Hangovers and alcohol addiction are unknown on Flatula. When Flatulans aren't golfing hard, they're drinking hard. They usually carry hip flasks and do both.
Finally, they like to brag about their intellectual pursuits. They spare no expense in building huge private libraries. A modest family library on Flatula rivals that of any university on earth.
Flatulans buy all those books strictly for show. They hate to read. At the same time, they're very picky about the grammar in the billions of books they never open. Thus, half the slaves on Flatula are copy editors.
Now, in the Earth year 2010, the Flatulans were facing a critical labor shortage. They had never been more prosperous, but they were running low on the four types of slaves most important to them: caddies, copy editors, cocktail waitresses, and muscular, shirtless college-boy gardeners.
The Flatulans had known about Earth for hundreds of years, but they regarded our planet as not worth the bother. They did start sending routine scouting missions to Earth in 1947, but only in 1955, when their radio telescopes picked up Chuck Berry's recording of "Maybellene," did they begin to take us seriously.
"Now that's damn good music," they said in Superfluan, their native tongue. "Now that's damn good music. Now that's damn good music. Now that's damn good music. Now that's damn good music."
Superfluan is our galaxy's most curious language. It arises from a quirk that all Flatulans have in the speech centers of their brains, which compels Flatulans to repeat everything they say exactly five times.
Speaking in Superfluan greatly slows down conversations on Flatula.
On the positive side, by repeating things five times, Flatulans always get their point across. Thus, unlike Earthlings, when Flatulans do a job, they do it right.
As a result, Flatulan technology is 100,000 years ahead of the most advanced technology ever devised on Earth: the iPod.
There we have it. In the year 2010, the Flatulans desperately needed new forced labor. Coincidentally, an astounding number of people on earth who didn't work on Wall Street needed jobs. And so ...
As already noted, at 3 a.m. on the morning of Labor Day 2010, an enormous Flatulan spacecraft hovered silently above Walden Puddle. It was commanded by Captain Dave Smith or, when he was in his cabin drinking, by his executive officer, Lieutenant Alice Jones.
On the night before Labor Day, everyone in Walden Puddle had gone to sleep in their own beds. On Labor Day, 25 Walden Puddlers and 15 local bears woke up on stainless steel examining tables on the Flatulan spaceship.
The 25 Walden Puddlers included Dr. Ursula Whipple; her mother, Ms. Priscilla Whipple; Mayor Blinkie Duval; and the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette.
Mayor Blinkie Duval spoke for all the Walden Puddlers when she said, "Whubba ... whubba ... whubba ... whubba ... whubba ..."
She uttered her patented nonsense sound exactly five times.
"They speak like us! They speak like us! They speak like us! They speak like us! They speak like us!" said Lt. Alice Jones.
"This looks promising! This looks promising! This looks promising! This looks promising! This looks promising!" exulted Capt. Dave Smith.
Things went downhill from there, as 145 Flatulan psychologists spent the rest of the day testing the 25 Walden Puddlers and 15 bears.
They found that "the hairy ones" -- Dr. Whipple's bears -- were by far the most intelligent of the Earth creatures, but the bears were unable to handle golf clubs without breaking them; proofread while chain-smoking; or hold trays of drinks level while being pinched in the butt.
Having been shot in the butt with tranquilizer darts so often by Dr. Whipple, the bears took no offense at the pinching. However, they thought that each pinch was another tranquilizer dart.
When pinched in the butt, the bears instantly went limp, collapsing and spilling all the drinks.
The psychologists also determined that the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette could read at a fourth-grade level; that Ms. Priscilla Whipple's brain contained traces of LSD from 1964; and that Dr. Ursula Whipple did not look good in fishnet stockings.
"The many hairs on her legs," wrote the Flatulan psychologists, "when compressed and flattened by stockings, make us sick."
In their official report -- composed in Superfluan and printed out five times -- the psychologists concluded: "In our travels to every corner of the Milky Way, and in our encounters with more than 10,000 intelligent civilizations, we have never seen beings as pathetic as these. We urge the Supreme Council of Flatula to look elsewhere for the caddies, copy editors, cocktail waitresses, and college-boy gardeners our beloved planet desperately needs. To obtain them from Earth would ... in our view ... undermine Flatulan civilization to the point of collapse."
By the end of Labor Day 2010, Captain Smith and Lieutenant Jones concluded that Earth was "hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, hopeless" as a source of slave labor for Flatula.
Thanks to the traumatic experience of 25 Walden Puddlers and 15 of Dr. Whipple's bears, the human race was spared the indignity of caddying, cocktail-waitressing, gigoloing, and ... worst of all, copy editing ... on a planet other than our own.
The great Flatulan spacecraft dropped off the 25 Walden Puddlers and 15 bears on the Village Green of Walden Puddle at midnight ... and quickly left town ... at warp speed.
"What a shame. What a shame. What a shame. What a shame. What a shame," said Capt. Dave Smith.
"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit," said Lt. Alice Jones. She had just said "shit" nine times.
"Stop repeating yourself, Lieutenant. Stop repeating yourself Lieutenant. Stop repeating yourself Lieutenant. Stop repeating yourself Lieutenant. Stop repeating yourself Lieutenant," said Capt. Smith.
And they sped off into interstellar space, looking for new worlds to conquer .... worlds, they hoped, without any Walden Puddles in them.
Editor's Note: "Maybellene" is not a typo, though the song's title is often misspelled as "Maybelline." Musicologists trace the melody and harmonics of Chuck Berry's early rock masterpiece to a 19th-century American fiddle tune, "Ida Red," which was later recorded by Cowboy Bob Wills, the King of Western Swing, in 1938. We tell you this only in order to show off, and to reassure you that each issue of Walden Puddle is diligently fact-checked.
If you're new to Walden Puddle, you can get to know Dr. Ursula Whipple; her mother, Ms. Priscilla Whipple; Mayor Blinkie Duval; the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette, and many other Walden Puddlers by paying a visit to Volume 1, published October 2009 through May 2010. Posts 1 through 5 of Volume 1 are at http://onwaldenpuddle.blogspot.com/. Posts 6 through 10 are at http://onwaldenpuddle2.blogspot.com/. Posts 11 through 15 are at http://onwaldenpuddle3.blogspot.com/. We hope you'll get a chuckle out of it.
THE BEARS OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
Notes from the Field, Plus Expert Advice
by Dr. Ursula Whipple
Field Notes: Labor Day 2010. You would never believe what happened to me and my mom, Priscilla, on Labor Day, so I won't tell you. If I did, I could end up in the nuthouse.
Who would look after my bears then? Who would buy them Christmas presents? Who would shoot them in the ass with tranquilizer darts?
So I'll just tell you other stuff.
Sergei refuses to leave me alone. He spent the whole damn summer e-mailing me for a date.
Now I ask you: Even if I liked him, how in the hell, living in Kamchatka, does he think he can pick me up at 7:00 and get me home by midnight? He drives a Yugo.
Priscilla used to impose that midnight curfew on me. I still use it myself, because on all my dates, I get painfully bored within the first five minutes.
That says a lot about the men I date. So I have switched to a more scientific method. I have a Ph.D., after all, and don't you forget it.
I have posted my "compatibility profile" and some photos of me ... taken recently, in 1989 ... on some dating websites.
Under "Things I Love to Do," I put
(1) Dance on tables when I'm shit-faced
(2) Play cards with my bears for money
(3) Stab myself in the ass with tranquilizer darts
(4) Overeat
Under "Things I'm Looking For in a Man," I put
(1) 6'4", 220, 2 percent body fat
(2) Nice butt
(3) Extremely flexible joints
(4) Encyclopedic knowledge of Eastern eroticism
Under "Things I Hate in a Man," I put
(1) If we eat gassy foods for dinner, and I accidentally rip one off in bed, I hate it when he lights a match to indicate that he's noticed
(2) A prison haircut (unless he's fresh out of prison)
(3) An unwillingness to reach out to my bears as equals
(4) Minimum wage
My profile has only been up on the Web for three or four months, so there haven't been any responses. These things don't happen overnight.
I'll tell you more about my love life next time, when I file my field notes for whatever this thing is called.
My bears are all doing fine, by the way.
Dr. Ursula Whipple is a freelance animal behaviorist and a contributing editor of Walden Puddle. Since 1990, she has lived in an abandoned cabin near town, studying the local bear population and being studied by them in turn. Often referred to, by herself and her mother, as the "Jane Goodall of the North Woods," she shares her field notes with us regularly because no scholarly journal will publish them.
WALDEN PUDDLE:
YOU ARE THERE
September 26, 1674,
the First Encounter
by the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker
Long before they prospered as casino owners, Native Americans spent many painful hours playing the game of lacrosse, which they invented.
In 1674, Walden Puddle did not yet contain any land-grabbing European invaders. The only humans in the area were two Native American tribes. One tribe lived in the malarial swamp that would become Walden Puddle. The other lived atop the beautiful hill that would become Copious Falls.
Both tribes spoke the same dialect of the Algonquin language, differing only in that the tribe from Copious Falls spoke it grammatically.
The tribe that lived in Copious Falls had a complex and intelligent code of law, passed down through oral tradition. They also had comfortable shelters, warm blankets in winter, abundant food, and beautiful teeth.
The tribe in Walden Puddle had none of the above. Moreover, instead of a code of law, they used the saying "Anything goes," just as Cole Porter would 250 years later.
Because primeval forest and whitewater rapids separated the two tribes, they had each lived for many generations -- a mere ten miles apart -- without knowing that the other tribe existed.
All that changed in September 1674, when a hunting party from Copious Falls encountered a hunting party from Walden Puddle on the banks of a rippling stream.
"Which tribe are you?" said Chief Nocturnal Mammal, the leader of the tribe from Walden Puddle.
"We are the Yuppi," said Chief Magnificent Alpha Wolf of Copious Falls. "And who are you?"
"We're the Fuggahwee," said Chief Nocturnal Mammal.
"Well, I can clear that up for you," said Chief Magnificent Alpha Wolf. "You're trespassing on our land. Get out of here before we fracture your clavicles."
Chief Nocturnal Mammal turned to an aide. "What the hell did he say?" he whispered.
"Again I ask you," said Chief Magnificent Alpha Wolf. "Who are you? What is your tribe?"
"We're the Fuggahwee," said Chief Nocturnal Mammal.
"Okay, comedian!" said Chief Magnificent Alpha Wolf. "I'll tell you where you are! You're on our land! Get off our land! Now!"
While they argued, Chief Magnificent Alpha Wolf noted the shabby garments of the Fuggahwee of Walden Puddle. He was touched by their malnourished condition, and their inability to speak Algonquin grammatically. He took pity on them.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's settle this thing by playing a game of lacrosse."
"You're on, Yuppi boy," said Chief Nocturnal Mammal.
The game began at dawn the next day and -- as Native American lacrosse games often did -- it lasted for eight days. The playing field was the entire ten-mile stretch of land separating the two villages.
Given the length of lacrosse fields in those days, in most games of Native American lacrosse, goals were rare.
This game was different. Ten minutes into it, the Yuppi of Copious Falls led the Fuggahwee of Walden Puddle by a score of 45-0.
"We still have eight days to go," said Chief Nocturnal Mammal. "We'll catch 'em, guys."
Ten minutes later, the score was 94-0.
The score remained 94-0 for four days. This was because Chief Magnificent Alpha Wolf decided -- after 20 minutes of play -- to take his players home to Copious Falls so they could celebrate in advance.
This gave the Fuggahwee a golden opportunity to score goals, since the Yuppi of Copious Falls were now all drunk on a sparkling white wine ... rather like Champagne ... which they had learned how to make from maize.
Advancing through the woods toward Copious Falls, however, the Fuggahwee of Walden Puddle kept getting lost.
To boost their morale, each time they got lost they chanted ...
"We're the Fuggahwee! We're the Fuggahwee! We're the Fuggahwee! We're the Fuggahwee!"
Four days later ... as the game reached halftime ... the Fuggahwee reached Copious Falls. By now, the Yuppi players and coaches had sobered up.
Just then, Chief Nocturnal Mammal of Walden Puddle had an inspiration. Not understanding the rules of lacrosse any better than he understood Algonquin grammar, he said to his players, "Look. It's a lot easier to score goals on our end of the field than it is on their end. In the second half, I want you guys to shoot the ball at our own goal."
The game resumed. For the next four days, both teams attacked the goal defended by a very unhappy Fuggahwee goalkeeper.
At dusk on the eighth day, as the game finally ended, the score was: Copious Falls 10,799, Walden Puddle 0.
"We won!" exulted Chief Nocturnal Mammal of Walden Puddle.
"How's that?" asked Chief Magnificent Alpha Wolf of Copious Falls.
"I've been keeping score," said Chief Nocturnal Mammal. "We scored 5,400 goals! You scored 5,399! We beat you by one goal!"
"Yes, but you were shooting the ball into your own net," explained Chief Magnificent Alpha Wolf.
"A goal is a goal, baby! We won!" said Chief Nocturnal Mammal. "In your face, Yuppi!"
Both sides returned to their homes. Great victory celebrations were held in both villages, although the celebration in Walden Puddle lasted only 15 minutes, for lack of food.
This marked the first and only time in the history of athletic contests between Walden Puddle and Copious Falls that Walden Puddle has ever claimed victory, however erroneously.
It also marked the moment when the bitter rivalry between Walden Puddle and Copious Falls was born ... a mutual hatred that bubbles over to this day.
It all happened in Walden Puddle ... on September 26, 1674 ... and ... thanks to our sponsors ... you ... were ... there.
To learn more about the bitter rivalry between Walden Puddle and Copious Falls, see "Divorce Walden Puddle Style," in the November 9, 2009, issue. Click http://onwaldenpuddle.blogspot.com/ and scroll to the middle of the page. For a second helping of the rivalry, click http://onwaldenpuddle3.blogspot.com/ and scroll to "The Midnight Raiders." It's in the March 15, 2010, issue, way down at the bottom of the page.
How does the Rev. Dr. Alice Walker, author of this new column and pastor of Walden Puddle's First Unitarian Meeeting House, know the entire history of Walden Puddle in such vivid detail? Click http://onwaldenpuddle3.blogspot.com/ and scroll to the Special Arbor Day Issue, published April 30, 2010. The feature story, "I Need a Hug," reveals the source of her uncanny historical memory.
THE TALK OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
We met with Mayor Blinkie Duval over iced tea at the Agreeable Doughnut last weekend.
"Our long wait was worth it," she said, beaming. "We hit the jackpot."
She was referring to Walden Puddle's 10-year search for a sister city, which until now had yielded only nine responses, and no polite ones.
We asked where Walden Puddle's new sister city was.
"Ever hear of a little town called Monaco?" she said. "On the French Riviera?"
We were speechless.
"Read this." She handed us a letter.
We couldn't read it. It was in French.
"I can't read it, either," said Mayor Duval.
We took the letter to Mme. Pathetique LaFongue, chairperson of the Romance Languages Department at Walden Puddle High School.
Her translation follows:
"Dear Mayor Duval: Thank you for your inquiry about work permits for foreigners in Monaco. We hope you find this information useful. You have contacted us at a good time. There is currently in Monaco a desperate shortage of caddies, copy editors, cocktail waitresses, and muscular, shirtless college-boy gardeners. Free lunches are provided. We look forward to receiving many job applications from Walden Puddle."
"Whubba," said Mayor Duval.
NEXT POST: December 21, 2010
FEATURING: "Sit and Deliver." Solomon Birnbaum, 109, the oldest resident ever at the Walden Puddle Grudgingly Assisted Living Facility, has only one wish for the holidays. Because his prayers have gone unanswered for 56 years, Solomon converts to Christianity. A different kind of Christmas story, co-starring the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette as Solomon's spiritual adviser and nutritionist.
THE BEAR FACTS: Dr. Whipple's Thanksgiving dinner with her mother, Ms. Priscilla Whipple, is a time for counting one's blessings, rolling a joint, and discussing the word spinster.
YOU ARE THERE: We pay a visit to 1904, to learn the true story of the Old Galvanized Bucket. A tale of lust, greed, lust, lust, more lust, covetousness, duplicity, lust, and lust. Rated PG35.
BONUS ITEM: Incredibly, local bookies put up the winless Walden Puddle Purple Finches as a 5-point favorite over the unbeaten Migratory Elk of Copious Falls. What did the wise guys know that we didn't? And were they right?
Editor's Note: You're on Page 4 of Walden Puddle, which kicks off Volume 2. If you missed Volume 1, it was published in three parts. Posts 1 through 5 are at http://onwaldenpuddle.blogspot.com/. Posts 6 to 10 are at http://onwaldenpuddle2.blogspot.com/. Posts 11 to 15 are at http://onwaldenpuddle3.blogspot.com/. Pay a visit to both.
All printed matter in this issue of Walden Puddle copyright © 2010 Walden Puddle Gift Shop. All rights reserved. All photos reproduced with permission. Original artwork courtesy of Aytsan.
