Tag: milkshake

Foot In Big Mouth

The wind hollered across the serenely calm lake as the moonlight glimmered off its rippling waters.

“Bob!” Woodruff called again.

When no answer came, Woodruff stepped down onto the sandy banks of the wooded island.  A pair of footprints trailed off the beach into the brush.  Kenny stood at the edge of the bridge and held a flashlight high overhead, to light the way.

“You don’t think he’s…” Kenny began.

“No, he’s alive,” Woodruff interrupted.

“I was going to say taking a nap,” Kenny replied.

Woodruff grimaced but did not look back.  He pushed aside the ferns that blocked his way.

“Bob, if you jump out and scare me, I’m drinking your milkshake.”

The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and a lone raspy bullfrog.

“It’s chocolate,” he added, to improve the severity of his warning.

“I don’t think he can hear you,” Kenny said.  “I hate to say it but he’s…”

“He’s fine, Kenny,” Woodruff interrupted.  “He’s fine.  He’s got to be.”

“I was going to say he’s a Scorpio,” Kenny replied.  “Passionate, independent, and not afraid to blaze his own trail, no matter what others think.”

Woodruff turned and laid a narrow-eyed scowl on the old vagabond.  Kenny sheepishly rubbed the scruff on his chin and held the light a little higher, in a vain attempt to seem helpful.

“Stay here,” Woodruff said.  “If I’m not back by sunrise, go get help.”

Kenny nodded and gave him a thumbs up.  Woodruff stepped beyond the tree line and stood still for a moment, until his eyes adjusted.

Of all the times Bob had vanished, the trombone festival, the Myrtle Sklesko incident, the three-day blackout in the Pyrenees, this was the most worrisome.  A number of possibilities troubled Woodruff’s mind.  Had a lake merman worked Bob over for hitting on his lady of the lake?  Had a tribe of pygmy warriors carried him off to be sacrificed to a vengeful god?  Again.  Did he find Bigfoot on a day when the beast was suffering an intense migraine brought on by a 72-hour YouTube binge and mild dehydration?

The sound of grunts and groans coming from deeper into the woods broke Woodruff from his worry spiral.  He inched forward, cautiously, toward the sounds.

“Bob?” he whispered.

Through the thick forest foliage, Woodruff could see strands of orange light casting a warm glow into the dark woods.  He crept forward listening to the soft groaning.

“Bob,” he whisper-yelled as he drew closer.

The groans stopped and Woodruff reached out to part the curtain of leaves in his path.  Behind the natural barrier was a clearing with a roaring fire at the center.  On the far side of the clearing, Bob hung upside down, with ropes tied to both ankles.

“Bob!”

Woodruff sprang into the clearing and ran around the fire pit.  He grabbed hold of Bob’s waist and lifted him up to ease the tension of the ropes.

“Woodruff!”

“I got you,” Woodruff said.  “Who did this?  Was it an angry merman?  How many times have a told you to leave the underwater world alone?”

“It was him,” Bob said.

“Who him?” Woodruff asked, looking down at his overturned friend.

“Him,” Bob pointed out across the clearing.  Woodruff bent over and slowly followed Bob’s finger to a giant hairy creature beyond the fire.

“Bigfoot,” Woodruff muttered.

“His name is Bert,” Bob said.  “And his feet are actually proportionate to his height.”

“Hello,” Bert said.  He waved a hair-covered hand at Woodruff.

“Uh, hi?” Woodruff said.

Bert flashed a big bright smile and Woodruff stood up straight.  The furry giant wore only a blue and black afghan around his waist.  Other than that, his body was covered from head to foot with dark brown hair.

“Are you going to eat us?” Woodruff asked.

Bob and Bert chuckled.

“Uh, gross,” Bert said.  “Why would you think that?  Because I’m hairy?”

“That’s hairist,” Bob said.

“Then why do you have my friend tied up next to a fire in the middle of a secluded island forest?” Woodruff asked.

“The fire is for light and warmth,” Bert said.  “We’re the middle of a secluded island forest.”

“And I asked him to tie me up,” Bob added.

“What?” Woodruff asked.  “Why?”

“He asked me how I got so tall,” Bert replied.

“He told me it was from long term inversion therapy for a chronic back condition,” Bob said.  “I told him I was looking to add some scale to this sweet package.”

“That’s what Xi said,” Bert added.

“Inappropriate,” Woodruff said.

“What?” Bert asked.  “Wang Xi is a composer I summered with in Kathmandu.  She wanted to add scales to her composition.  Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You were in the Himalayas?” Woodruff said.  “You’re kidding.”

“Nobody kids about Kathmandu,” Bob replied.

“What’s funny about that?” Bert asked.

“The Himalayas,” Woodruff repeated.  “You know, the Yeti.”

“Oh Woodruff,” Bob said, covering his upside-down eyes.

“That’s offensive,” Bert said.  “I happen to have hereditary gigantism and suffer from congenital hypertrichosis, which effect one in ten billion people, just so you know.  I’ve had to endure a lifetime of Sasquatch jokes and straight up cuckoos.  Have you ever been hunted?  It’s not fun.”

“Actually, Bert, we have been hunted,” Bob said, swinging gently side to side.

“A couple of times,” Woodruff said.  “It was not fun.”

“Not fun at all,” Bob agreed.

“I’m sorry,” Woodruff said.  “That was insensitive.  Please forgive me.”

Bert sat down on a stump and scratch at the ground with a broken branch.

“It’s okay,” Bert said.  “My ex says I’m too sensitive.”

“No,” Bob said.  “It’s got to be hard living out here on your own.”

“Oh, I don’t live out here,” Bert said.

“You don’t?” Bob said.

“No, I was just doing some fishing,” Bert said.  “You know, disconnecting, getting off the grid.”

Bob craned his neck and looked up at Woodruff, before they both turned back to Bert.

“I’m a hedge fund manager from San Fran,” Bert said.

“Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” Woodruff asked.

Bert looked down at the afghan tied around his waist.

“I fell in the water and hung my clothes out to dry,” he replied, pointing to a clothesline hanging between two trees.  “Bob gave me this blanket he knitted.”

“Crocheted,” Bob corrected.

“We thought…” Woodruff stopped himself before further offending their host.

“You thought I was a mythical creature living in a secluded island forest away from societies reach?” Bert said.  “I get that a lot.”

“Wow,” Bob said.  “We sure learned a valuable lesson about making snap contextual judgements.  Even when the evidence seems to overwhelmingly support them, you could still wind up mistaking a bay area capitalist on a fishing trip with a North American folk-legend.”

“No worries,” Bert said.  “If I had a nickel for every time I was mistaken for Bigfoot, I’d have invested those nickels in the market, quadrupled my original investment, and bought a SKS-HT540 7.1 Channel Surround Sound System with a 10-inch subwoofer and Bluetooth.”

“The Onkyo,” Woodruff said.  “Excellent choice.  I’ve got the HT-7800 at home.”

“Always nice to meet another audiophile,” Bert said.

Bert gave a double pistol salute with his finger guns just before being taken to the ground by a rampaging man who leapt from the bushes.

“Run for it, guys!” Kenny yelled, as he struggled with his hairy captive.  “Save yourselves!  Tell Meryl I’ve always loved her.”

“Kenny, what are you doing?” Bob asked.

“Kenny?” Bert said.

“Bert?” Kenny replied.

“Hey!” they sang in unison.  With a great big smile, Kenny climbed off Bert and helped him off the ground.

“You know each other?” Woodruff asked.

“This is my brother-in-law,” Kenny said.

“Ex-brother-in-law,” Bert added.

“Her loss, brother,” Kenny said. 

“As always, you’re too kind.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Bert said.  “You?”

“Same,” Kenny said.  “Whatcha doing out here?”

“Fishing.”

“Catch anything?”

“Just these two,” Bert said, pointing at Woodruff and Bob.

“Those are throwbacks for sure,” Kenny said, with a wink.

“Definitely,” Bert said, and pantomimed a tossing motion.  “Catch and release.”

Kenny threw his arm around the waist of his former brother-in-law and they both laughed.  The smile fell from Kenny’s face as he looked over at Woodruff and a dangling Bob.

“Wait a minute,” Kenny said, raising an eyebrow in their direction.  “Did you two think Bert was Bigfoot?”

“It was dark,” Woodruff said.

“And far away,” Bob added.

Kenny shook his head and muttered, “Of all the hairist…”

“It’s Reno all over again,” Woodruff whispered.

“She was incognito!” Bob said.

Woodruff mouthed a silent, “We’re so sorry” to Bert.

“Would you like a lukewarm apology milkshake?” Kenny asked Bert.

“Jamocha?” Bert asked.

“Chocolate,” Kenny said.

“Pass,” Bert replied.

When We Come To It

“How much further?” Kenny asked.

“If you ask me that one more time, Kenny, I’ll turn this bridge around,” Bob said.  “You just keep hammering.”

“My hammering hand is tired,” Kenny replied.

“Then use your other hand,” Bob said.

“Oh, okay,” Kenny switched hammer from his left to his right hand and finished pounding the nail into the board.  “Much better.”

A cherry-red Karmann Ghia pulled into view, with several dozen 2×12’s sticking out of the trunk.  Bob set his hammer down and made his way across the adjoined planks, to the rocky shore.  Woodruff climbed out of the Karmann Ghia and waved to Bob.

“This should do it,” Woodruff said, as Bob drew nearer.  “How’s it coming?”

“Great,” Bob said.  “Except for some whining from the hammering hobo.”

“Be nice to Kenny,” Woodruff said.  “He’s doing us a favor.”

“He’d be doing me a favor if he built more than he belly-ached,” Bob muttered, with a look back out toward the lake.

Kenny knelt at the end of a long bridge that nearly stretched to the island at the center of the lake.  Waves lapped up against the buoys that held up the footers and the bridge bobbed gently up and down.  The sun hung low in the sky and cast long shadows out over the water.

“Think we’ll get this done before the sun sets?” Woodruff asked.

“Dunno,” Bob said.  “Maybe.”

They each grabbed a stack of lumber and headed back over the bouncy bridge.

“Genius idea to float the bridge instead of trying to sink the piles to the bottom of the lake.”

“Thank you, my good man.  When you cast aside the umbrella of the advisable inspiration is free to rain down on you.”

“Did you just come up with that?”

“Nah, I got it from a fortune cookie at Panda Express.”

Woodruff and Bob set the long planks down next to where Kenny was fastening that next run of girders together.  Bob grabbed his hammer and knelt beside him, while Woodruff let himself down over the side and climbed across the trusses to support the beam from underneath.

“Girder your loins,” Woodruff said.

“Planks for the assistance,” Kenny said.

“Okay Punserella,” Bob said.  “Let’s focus.”

“What pickled his pier?” Kenny asked.

“He’s just anxious to get to the island,” Woodruff said.  “You know how obsessive he gets about celebrities.”

“Remember Reno?” Kenny asked.

“M-M-M-M-iranda, no, um, M-Meryl, M-M-Miss Streep,” Woodruff pantomimed, with a mocking bow.  “It’s an honor.”

“I still say that was Meryl Streep,” Bob said.

“Dressed as a security guard?” Woodruff questioned.

“She was incognito,” Bob said.

“It was a man,” Kenny said.

“With a beard,” Woodruff added.

“In-cog-ni-to,” Bob shot back.

“What about the time we actually met John Krasinski,” Woodruff said.

“You met John Krasinski?” Kenny asked.

“Bob asked if he knew Meryl Streep,” Woodruff replied.

Kenny and Woodruff burst into laughed and Bob threw down his hammer in disgust.

“Are we going to giggle or are we going to build?” Bob said.

“Can’t we do both?” Woodruff asked.

“Meryl Streep could,” Kenny said.

Another round of laughter sent a wave of red up his face like a thermometer on a summer morning.

“The sun is getting low and we’re not going to make it before dark if you two keep messing around.”

“If you’re in such a hurry to get to the island, why don’t you just take a boat?” Kenny asked.

“Because that’s exactly what you’d think you’d want to do,” Bob said.  “That’s why nobody has found him yet.  If you want to do something that’s never been done before you’ve got to do it the way it’s never been done.”

“Fortune cookie?” Woodruff asked.

“Of course it is,” Bob said.  “You know I live my life by the Panda.”

“I could go for some orange chicken,” Kenny said.

“I told you, you’ll get food when we make landfall,” Bob said.

“Bob, you’ve gone full Ahab again,” Woodruff said.

“What did I say about Herman Melville references?” Bob responded with an accusing finger point.

“Only if it’s from Queequeg,” Woodruff and Kenny replied in unison.

“That’s right,” Bob said.

Woodruff climbed up, back onto the deck, and wiped at the lake water splashed across his slacks.

“Well you’ve taken all the fun out of this,” Woodruff said.  “I don’t even want to meet Bigfoot anymore.”

“You don’t mean that,” Bob said.

“I do,” Woodruff said.  “I hope we never meet him.  I hope he stays mythical forever.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Bob said.  “What about your list?”

“Bigfoot wasn’t on my list,” Woodruff said.  “Meet a legendary creature was on my list and we can check that off since you met Meryl Streep.”

Woodruff made sarcastic quotation marks on the word met.

“So you admit it was Meryl Streep,” Bob said.

“Sometimes I wonder why we’re friends.”

“Convenience and laziness, really.”

“I stay for the food,” Kenny said.

“Fair is fair, Kenny,” Woodruff said.  “Come on, we owe you a meal.”

“The bridge is only ninety percent finished,” Bob said.

“Then I’ll buy him ninety percent of a sandwich,” Woodruff replied.

“No one’s going to make you ninety percent of a sandwich.”

“Then I’ll buy one hundred percent of a sandwich and I’ll eat the pickles.”

“You’d eat the pickles anyway!” Bob shouted.

“I do not like pickles,” Kenny said.

“Fine, then he’s going to get one hundred percent of a sandwich,” Woodruff replied.

“For ninety percent work?” Bob said.  “That’s quite a deal.”

“Being friends with you is quite a deal!” Woodruff bellowed.

“Thank you!” Bob shouted.

“You’re welcome!” Woodruff replied, as he turned around and stormed off with Kenny trailing behind him.

“Bring me a milkshake!” Bob yelled.

“Chocolate or vanilla?” Woodruff shouted back.

“Chocolate, of course,” Bob said.  “Jamocha if they’ve got it!”

“We’re not going to Arby’s!” Woodruff shouted, as he pulled open the car door.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Woodruff and Kenny climbed in the Karmann Ghia and drove away, leaving Bob standing alone at the end of the bridge. 

“Is he still upset?” Kenny asked.  “I really can’t tell.”

“No, he’s moved into the milkshake phase,” Woodruff said.  “You know, denial, anger, bargaining, milkshake.”

Bob watched as the cherry-red car pulled out of sight.  For a moment he thought about jumping in the lake to cool off, but he was worried he might land on a crawdad or a baby bass.  Instead he set to work finishing the bridge.  Just before the upper rim of the sun dipped below the tree line Bob set the last plank from the deck to the sandy banks of the island.  He looked up at a large shadowy figure, amongst the trees, looking down on him.

“Miss Streep?”