The Spatula Chronicles

Well, I am consumed with the Cardinals' seemingly inexplicable ride to the World Series, and I apologize for abandoning you. Here's a little thing I wrote some time back, which I share with you to pass the time until my mind sobers up literally and figuratively.

My friend Steve has this wife named Lynn. Lynn is a sick individual. She is compulsive and anal about everything. She is a pack rat, and a fanatical collector of junk. She compulsively shops every day, buying items in bulk that she doesn't need (like buying TEN tents, or THREE Fisher-Price dinettes, simply because they were on sale), and then storing these items in their basement, or in one of the three tractor trailers that Steve owns.

One day I borrowed their van. Six months later, Lynn came to me and accused me of stealing a SPATULA out of the van that day. Every time I saw the woman after that, she would ask me about the spatula. She likes to refer to me as "fag," and I guess in her mind, fags like to steal cookware. I don't understand her illness. Steve had no answers. Despite my insistence that I didn't need to steal a plastic spatula because I have a decent job, Lynn would not give up.

And so "The Spatula Chronicles" was born.

Here is the "first" episode (I work like Lucas - backwards):

----------The Spatula Chronicles-------------

Episode 26: Danger at Denali Heights

Lynn turned the clues over in her mind ceaselessly. She hadn’t missed a thing.

Cookware and utensils had disappeared over the years. Despite the reasoning of her family, Lynn knew that they didn’t simply vanish into thin air. No, this type of evil could only come from a criminal mastermind, a dark and angry heart so devious that they had eliminated all traces of their crimes. As pie pans, forks, and other everyday household items vanished, Lynn took note carefully. Of course their absence would keep her awake at night, but the final theft drove her over the edge. Something had to be done about it.

Lynn climbed the steep mountain road leading to a Nepali village nestled high in the mountains named Denali Heights. The chilly winds whipped up through the canyon below, blowing Lynn’s hair over her focused eyes. She trudged relentlessly up the rocky slope until she could see the small town lit up by firelight in the darkening dusk.

Villagers eyed her suspiciously as she wandered down the dirt path in the center of town. Small children, naked and starving, leaned tiredly against the thatched wicker huts, their bones exposed under a thin veil of dark brown flesh. Lynn wondered how they were able to get that thin, and made a promise to herself to discover their dieting secret as soon as she finished her quest. She had no time now, for every precious minute that ticked away kept her from resolving this mysterious evil.

She came to a small hut at the end of town, tucked in under several large trees. Light from the roaring fire inside flickered between the wooden posts of the poorly insulated hovel. Lynn drew a deep breath. “I am so close to finding the answer to this horrible crime,” she muttered to herself under her breath. It had indeed been quite a journey to this point. After scouring the internet, she found the cheapest airfare and charged it to her husband’s Visa account. Then she rented a large tractor trailer and loaded all of the supplies she would need for the journey, including several tents, an antique sewing machine, and three Fisher-Price dinette sets. Most of these she was forced to leave behind at the airport after several hours of arguing with the airport authorities, who insisted that the airplane would never lift off of the ground with so many items onboard. That only made the trip more difficult, and more dangerous.

Lynn pushed the small wooden door open, and the harsh breeze rushed through the hut, rustling the copper lanterns hanging from the ceiling.

“Close the door,” hissed a gruff voice from behind the counter. Lynn’s eyes met his. The man lifted himself painfully from his chair. His thin, greasy hair hung limply over his small dark slits for eyes. He adjusted his ratty clothing over his shoulders as he eyed Lynn suspiciously. She gathered her strength.

“I have come for my answer,” Lynn said cautiously. The man coughed, then smiled crookedly back at her.

“Did you bring the amulet?” he retorted. Lynn smiled back, the plastic retainer over her straight white teeth glinting in the light. She reached into her front pocket and pulled out the amulet. She placed it on the wooden desk in front of the man.

“Ah, the amulet! The most powerful medallion on earth, and it’s all mine!” The man grasped the amulet with his dirty, calloused hands.

Lynn smiled knowingly. Little did the man know how she had found that amulet at a discount store in Bankok, sitting in a bin of amulets priced at 15 for a dollar. Of course, the bin was guarded by enchanted spiders, each one deadlier than the next. Fortunately Lynn had thought to pack the extra can of hardwood floor stain in her backpack. She sprinkled the stain on the enchanted spiders, and the fumes from it caused them to roll over and go to sleep. She then carefully took the spiders and returned them to their native environment. After they were safe and unharmed, she returned to the discount store and bought the entire bin of amulets on her husband’s credit card.

The man lovingly caressed the discounted amulet. Lynn turned deadly serious.

“You have your amulet, now tell me. Where is my spatula?”

The man coiled behind the counter. He took the amulet and placed it in the hands of the stone god behind him. He then raised his hands to the god, and chanted.

“Give me my answer!” Lynn shouted impatiently.

The man turned to her. “I see a faggot.”

Lynn gasped. She knew it all along. “Tell me more,” she insisted.

“He lives high atop a building, surrounded by pink. There you will find your spatula.”

Lynn whipped around angrily. Her breaths, short and shallow, timed perfectly to her pulsing heartbeat. Her eyes darted about, formulating a plan. Her thoughts were interrupted by the man’s raspy voice.

“Of course, he will not simply give it to you if you ask him for it,” the man began.

Lynn squinted at him. “I need that spatula back. What do I need to do?”

“Go to the Seer of Thailand. He will provide you with a serum to force anyone to tell you anything, even where to find your missing spatula,” hissed the man.

Lynn turned to leave. “Thank you so much for being honest with me. I wish my family was as helpful as you have been to me.”

As she left, the man coughed and screamed out behind her, “Beware the dangers of Thailand!”

Lynn trudged on into the windy night, her quest one step closer to completion.

Next Week, Episode 27: Peril at Opossum Pass!