Poof - Chapter 3
Eric Foster's Happytime Hot Springs and Unusual Event Center Boulder Colorado Summer Adventure
© 2022 tenderbastard
This novel is fiction, except for the parts that aren't
Inspired by Jack the Hot Springs Dog and other stuff that happened
“Never be afraid to trade your cow for a handful of magic beans.” - Tom Robbins
“When rock turns to air I will be there.” - Jack Kerouac - M1exico City Blues
“We are each alone with our ritual. Lettuce should be torn not cut.” - Rima Miller, actress and yoga instructor
“There's a Starman waiting in the sky. He'd like to come and meet us, but he thinks he'd blow our minds. - David Bowie - Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars
"If you want to make an omelette you have to break some legs." - Osiris the Alien - Happytime Hot Springs and Unusual Event Center
Other books @ tenderbastard.com
Two Chimps and a Chump
Sticks and Stones ~ How the West Was Wonderful
Thank You for Being My Boy ~ a dog's memoir by Georgia the well-heeled terrier-hound
CHAPTER THREE – Eric's Unusual Relics
A PAIR OF MOCCASINS worn by Crazy Horse at the Battle of Little Bighorn, this being controversial since Crazy Horse was known to go barefoot. The argument for them being his was, “That's why they're in such pristine condition.”
Crazy Horse parted his hair to the left of center to coincide with his politics, had long, thick braids, and wore one feather, point up when he was happy, down when he was depressed. Some people wore their heart on their sleeve. Crazy wore his mood on his head.
Thunder and lightning were powerful forces within him. They guided his cosmic destiny, images of them painted on his upper arms. He was mystic, brave, and cunning, knowing he was different, like jazz musician, Thelonius Monk, who, at any given time, had ten songs rolling around in his brain and found it hard to keep a conversation going. Crazy sought guidance by displacing himself to sacred places, Las Vegas, Disney World, Universal Studios in Los Angeles. He was a humble warrior, educated by his uncle, Crazy Glue, a wise man who excelled at the white man's game of Twister. Crazy Horse didn't like the white man, how he came, what he did, but even more he detested Youtube ads. On average he fought every other day, burned forts as fast as they were erected. He tried to de-activate his Facebook account while keeping his gmail address as many times. It was easier to burn down forts.
His people lived peacefully along the Tongue River in Wyoming. The gold rush in the Black Hills of neighboring South Dakota changed that. He was told his warriors must surrender and come to the fort by January 31st 1876 or be declared hostile. Things had been hostile for a long time before that. After killing Custer he and three thousand followers spent a severe winter along the Yellowstone River. Hounded by soldiers, the buffalo gone, in May of 1877 he went to talk about a reservation along the Tongue River. But it wasn't true. He'd been lured in to be arrested. Drawing his knife, a scuffle ensued and he was bayoneted in the back. Crazy Horse made a vow to his people. If necessary he would go to the next world to preserve their way of life. He was thirty seven years old. His step mother sang, “Remember me when you see the Black Hills. Remember me, defender of my People and this Land.” She tracked down the guy who stabbed her step-son in the back and shivved him in his flank steak.
The Lakota Sioux originated in the Ohio River Valley around 900 A.D. They sold prefabricated housing and pharmaceuticals to make ends meet. As white settlers appeared in the 18th century, the Lakota were pushed west, to the Mississippi River Valley and eventually into the Dakotas. They recorded their history by painting on animal hides. One of the earliest depictions is of an entire village, warriors, women, and children whacking the crap out of a band of Bernie Sanders supporters. From the 1860s until the 1870s the Lakota fought to maintain their life in the Black Hills. By the 1890s their numbers were decimated by the overpowering American military. They lost the Black Hills when gold was discovered there. Their last hurrah had been killing Custer and his soldiers. “They thought there were only six hundred of us,” he recalled. Miners from the west and south swarmed to the Black Hills mountain range in southwest South Dakota. To protect their mineral interests the military cleared the area of Lakota.
What probably happened with Crazy Horse in battle is that he carried his moccasins between his horse blanket and said horse, snugged by his inner thigh holding him and his moccasins in the saddle. Crazy Horse was a visionary, riding into an armed conflict and touching his enemy more often than swooping in crossfire and killing them. His piece de resistance was to gallop into the fray, whip out his fancy footwear, and bitch slap the crap out of his nemesis, like Muntadhar al-Zaidi throwing his shoes at George Bush Junior on December 14th, 2008 during an Iraqi press conference at the prime minister's palace in Baghdad, Iraq.
“This is a farewell kiss from the Iraqi people,” Muntadhar shouted in Arabic as he hurled the first piece of footwear, and, "This is for the widows and orphans and all those killed in Iraq,” with the second toss.” Then he slipped off his socks, curled them into a ball, whipped those across the press room, and shouted, “This is for all the girls I've loved before, who traveled in and out my door. I'm glad they came along. I dedicate this song to all the girls I've loved before.”
He paid a price, two years in prison. Revenge was an intoxicating reward. More often than not self control is the better policy. After his release Muntadhar al-Zaidi became a member of the Iraqi Parliament, proving that while in general two wrongs don't make a right, sometimes they do.
Remember Tank Man? Ask any Chinaman. You'll be greeted with a blank stare. Tank Man's name and identity have been forever forgotten due to a concerted effort by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) to have exactly that happen. Like the Buddha and his prayer flags, Tank Man had reached the end of his paper parasol with government crackdowns, When tanks were called in to quash a student protest on Tiannamen Square, Beijing, China, June 5, 1989, Citizen T stepped in front of a line of invading armored vehicles. Never go up against a large, metal-reinforced object with a cloth shopping bag and cardboard umbrella. Tank Man aka the Unknown Protester blocked passage of a column of tanks, shifting position as they attempted to go around him. The incident was filmed and secreted to worldwide media. There is no credible evidence of who Tank Man was, or his fate. One thing is certain. He didn't gain a seat in the CCP.
The official party statement declared Chinese Communist Party recruitment center's windows had recently been knocked out, probably by members of the paramilitary faction of said CCP so they'd have an excuse to swoop onto Tiannamen Square and crush two hundred sleeping students. That's when Tank Man made his protest, and that's when two strangers waltzed over and dragged him away by his ears, the only evidence that he'd done what he'd did was his parasol blowing across the square in the noonday sun. So long Tank Man. Tanks for the memories. Sarong, it's been good to know yuh.
A lock of the Minotaur's fur, slain in its labyrinth by Hercules, a half-man/half-god creature with great strength and great hair. The lock of fur was a controversial item since there was no way to carbon date the DNA of a mythological creature. Hercules and the Minotaur had hairy backs, and a love of Bernie Sanders socio-economic policies, so right there you know they were flawed individuals.
The other notable strong man, Samson, was done in by his girlfriend Delilah cutting his hair. Hercules gave himself a store-bought perm, left it in too long so that his follicles went haywire, curled into his head, ate his brain, and like Muhammad Ali after too many punches to his thought box, was never the same. Ali spent the rest of his days waiting for the Beatles to visit him again. Hercules kept waiting for The Spice Girls to get back together. That wasn't going to happen either.
The toothpick in the teeth of Teddy Roosevelt as he marauded San Juan Hill, a completely unnecessary military maneuver done merely to impress a girl named Juanita, much of history making history for that reason, Helen of Troy coming to mind.
A spare tire fabricated by the Sumerians, inventor of the wheel, it naturally following they'd invent the spare tire too. It came in handy since, when he bought his Elantra, the neighbor said, “Oh yeah. It doesn't have a spare.”
The Sumerians were responsible for a number of innovations lost to time. The drive-in burger joint. It follows that the civilization that invented the tire and its spare would be motoring around town feeling the need for a destination that fulfilled their culinary desires. They invented burgers and fries, onion rings and the soft drink, but missed out on the milk shake, that being left for Abraham Lincoln to concoct. It was what ultimately kept the nation united. The south had the milk, the north had the facilities to make ice cream. When Grant and Lee sat down at Appomattox Courthouse they shared chilled bowls of parlor-blended, chilled, dairy splendor. Grant topped his with a blast of bourbon. He called it a Babysitter. Having signed the Ceasefire Agreement of the Confederacy, effectively ending the bloody conflict between North and South, Grant and Lee shook hands, both teary-eyed. Lee got on his horse and rode south. Grant took a nap, his Babysitter having been an effective lullaby after four years of conflicted altercation that saw so many die before being able to partake in what Lincoln had conjoined the nation with. That's why John Wilkes Boothe blasted him in the brain. It was stipulated in the agreement that part of Southern reconstruction would outlaw milk shakes until full transparency was restored to the former confederate states. Many Southerners feared full transparency meant they'd have to live in open-faced housing and everyone would be able to watch them undress. Boothe knew it was a con, so he took it out on the back of the president's head by taking out the back of the president's head. The Sumerians never knew what they were missing. Neither did Lincoln, except for that instant when he knew he was missing the back of his head. A second Sumerian spare would come into play as the Happytime gang fled to the last open portal in Chaco Canyon, New Mexico.
A box of cigars gifted to Christopher Columbus by the Native Americans he would systematically murder in an attempt to obliterate their culture and will. Columbus was given two boxes and kept one to present as a present to Ferdinand and Isabella before they so rudely tossed him in jail for infiltrating the new world with so many governorships granted to family members. Karma.
Socrates yo-yo. His nickname was So-So. He never gave you the answer, only the question, a tacit philosopher and gamesman extraordinaire rivaling Crazy Horse and High Backbone at contests of physical skill. The Chinese Zen philosopher Lao-Tsu winged teacups at people's heads when they weren't paying attention, Socrates pinged 'em in the pate with that thing-on-a-string to keep students engaged. That's when you could physically discipline kids. Those were the days.
The prototype for a pair of scissors owned by Florence, Italy's most prolifically inventive home-boy, Leonardo da Vinci, father of that device that's a formidable opponent to rock and paper. Someone seeing him invict a sheet of parchment asked, “Hey, Leo, what have you got there?” Looking up from his work, he scathed a finger, this particular pair withholding a dab of da Vinci's blood thus a tad of his immortal DNA. What could you get for that on Ebay? Da Vinci was a man of great mind and would've marveled at the invention of the internet. Having it explained to him he might have exclaimed, “That's dope.”
A painting trowel utilized in A Starry Night's making by the world's most conflicted and crafty colorist, Vincent Van Gogh, pronounced Gok. He failed at love and theological ministry, but that cat could sling paint. So dedicated to his art Vincent shot himself in the ribs because he couldn't get his crows right. Someone should've intervened.
“They're only crows. Let it go. How about some soup? I made it fresh this morning. No? Let's go outside and look at some crows. Forget that. Bad idea.”
These individuals were visionaries, purveyors of the future, all of them aliens come to make the planet sway one or the other. Eric was amiss to all of this. He remembered having the orb his renowned relics had been delivered in, but he couldn't remember where it had gotten to. Like Legos, marbles, and comic books long treasured, he packed his purposeful possessions in a green Army duffel bag his neighbor had left in the Hyundai's trunk. As he did he felt something was missing, perhaps the rest of his life he'd find during his summer adventure at Happytime Hot Springs and Unusual Event Center. It was a yearning to remember what had become of his translucent, blue orb, and to find himself for the first time, to find his orb again. Things forgotten are sometimes remembered, his girlfriend stepping through the portal, with trepidation and some hesitation Eric doing so too.
As he yielded onto Highway 9 headed west out of his hometown he pulled over to have one last look, making certain he wasn't forgetting anything, anything being a loose term for everything in a person's world. Like Lily Munster told Herman when he returned home for his lunch bucket. “Oh, Herman. You'd forget your head if it wasn't bolted on.” Eric couldn't imagine what he might be forgetting. He couldn't imagine what he was headed into either.