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Given two choices, attend the annual family reunion and spend
the weekend at home with Godzilla or spend the weekend away
with Mr. Hogeye in Seattle, Ken opted for the less expensive
of the two. Both would cause equal amounts of stress, so that
was not a factor. Attending the family reunion would mean
a paying a $75.00 change fee. Ken chose Seattle.
Why he continued to visit Vodka Land he would never understand.
He paid dearly for those brief moments of bliss. But still
he returned, not unlike the proverbial moth to a flame. There
was nothing he could do about it...it was pure, unadulterated
instinct that no one could change. Most recently, it was the
horrid Linda Tripp in man-drag incident that gotten him into
trouble. Linda's bodyguard, Mr. Latte, had drugged Ken in
an attempt to make him forget that he had seen Linda on her
night out with the boys. Think of what would have happened
to her credibility had the press found out! Ken had agreed
to spend some time with Mr. Hogeye in Seattle while still
under the influence of Mr. Latte's drug...and a few cocktails.
Before he knew it he was on a plane winging his way out west.
The crew onboard Undone Airlines had been exceptionally generous...perhaps
they too had been to Vodka Land and felt for him. The flight
went without incident, and in no time at all Tina Marie Attend-Ahnt
was making the announcement to lock the tray-tables and stow
all vibrators. Ken sat upright and fully locked. Through the
window he could see Mt. Rainier. It was so beautiful and pristine.
And over there...look! Isn't that the Space Needle? Such a
marvel of modern architecture. The airport loomed into view.
Could that be Mr. Hogeye's hay bailer in the parking lot?
Surely not, Mr. Hogeye had also flown to Seattle. The bailer
was entirely too large to fit in the overhead compartment.
Perhaps it belonged to some distant cousin. The theme from
"Deliverance" played in Ken's head. Or was it a
medley of "The Beverly Hillbillies" and "Green
Acres"? He wasn't quite sure.
Mr. Hogeye was waiting at the gate with open arms. And fly.
Ken hugged him and immediately pointed out the unsecured airlock.
"Damn! I can't tell you how many horses have gotten out
of the barn that way!" "I can only imagine, Jim-Bob!"
Mr. Hogeye had already secured the rental car, so they collected
Ken's luggage and were on their way. They chit-chatted about
the latest news...Ken about all the recent breakthroughs in
hair gel technology, Mr. Hogeye about the price of hog bellies
and the wheat index, whatever the hell that is.
They stopped at a red light. Mr. Hogeye looked both ways
to check for oncoming traffic, then made a right turn. From
the left lane. Ken pointed out to Mr. Hogeye that this wasn't
a very safe thing to do. "What's the difference, it's
still a right on red?" "Well, you tell that to Mrs.
Widgeons over there. You know, the lady you just cut off in
the right hand lane? She's not too happy. In fact, I think
she's giving you some form of directional hand signal right
now." "Well, that's how we do it in Arkansas!"
Ken rolled his eyes. "Oh my God!" He thought. "Hey!
Look over there, on the left! Let's pull into Trudy's Tavern
for a second and have an early happy hour!" Ken suggested
(a.k.a. begged). He truly missed Vodka Land at this juncture.
"Let's check into the hotel first. I wouldn't want the
possum in the trunk to go bad. I brought it so we'd have somethin'
to snack on." Previously, Ken had thought that there
was nothing on Earth worse than two-day-old, festering crab.
Obviously he had been wrong. "OK" he replied.
The hotel was actually very close-by, and they arrived quickly.
Thank God Mr. Hogeye had been kidding about the possum. Ken
suggested they go for a walk to familiarize themselves with
the area. Mr. Hogeye was game. Using his keen sense of smell,
again heightened since moving to Casa Lesbo, Ken was able
to locate the most perfect Margarita in all of Seattle in
less than seven minutes. He locked in on the target and within
seconds there they were...on the corner of Second and Bell,
at Mama's Mexican Kitchen, toasting the good life and noticing
that they were the only people in the entire restaurant without
a tattoo or body piercing of some sort. Mr. Hogeye was feeling
quite risque, and revealed his innermost secret to Ken. He
wanted to...buy a ring for his...MIDDLE finger! Shock! Ken
giggled at the thought of Mr. Hogeye taking such a bold step.
(The tequila had obviously taken affect.) Ken dared not reveal
his innermost secrets...Mr. Hogeye would surely have a coronary
and die right there...face down in his refried beans.
Somehow the two were caught in a vortex, and the next thing
Ken knew it was morning and they were on a scenic tour of
the Cascades. The natural beauty of the surrounding countryside
brought a tear to Ken's eye. He was dreaming of lush green
meadows, happy Bambi deer frolicking about, butterflies dancing
on wildflowers...Ken was vaguely aware of the sound of crunching
gravel. His daydream quickly faded when he realized that they
were driving on the shoulder of the road. "Hey! Jim-Bob!
What are you doing, man? You're driving on the shoulder of
the road!" "I know. It's safer that way. You're
further away from oncoming traffic." "What?! Are
you crazy?!" "What do you mean? Are you trying to
confuse me with that Yankee babble? Everybody knows it's safer
to drive on the shoulder!" "Do they really teach
you that in Arkansas?" "Yeah, why?" "Well,
let me point out to you that we do things a little different
here in civilization! Maybe that's why we post those signs...for
people from Arkansas." "What are you talkin' about?"
"Look over there...see the sign that says 'No driving
on shoulder'?" "I'll never understand you Yankees!
I remember the time...Hey! Look! Over there!" Thank God
Mr. Hogeye was easily distracted. The Civil War could've easily
been reenacted on the spot. Ken made a silent vow to himself
to never drive in Arkansas.
Mr. Hogeye had spotted a most precious souvenir stand. It
featured tropical seashells and other native artifacts of
the Cascades. Mr. Hogeye wheeled in and docked the Tempo at
Shell Land. The proprietress was obviously native to the Cascades
also. She maneuvered from her trailer to greet her customers.
Ken inquired as to the source of her hair color while Mr.
Hogeye carefully inspected the hand painted Elvis figurines,
again, native to the Cascades. Ken had to admit, some of the
velvet paintings were quite picturesque. "Wow! I've been
searching for stuff like this my whole life!" Marveled
Mr. Hogeye, visibly impressed by the artifacts. "Oh,
this isn't even the tip of the iceberg, hon! I've got a whole
catalog of stuff if you want to look through it. I can special
order anything you want." "Really?! You know, years
ago I saw this painting of dogs playing poker. I've always
regretted not buying it. I've never been able to find one
like it again. I've held a space open over my mantle ever
since, hoping that someday I'd be able to proudly display
a poker-playing dog tapestry there. Do you happen to have
anything like that?" "Well, let's see...oh look!
Here ya go! Just whatcher lookin' for!" Ken was amazed.
Mr. Hogeye was so happy he was beginning to cry! Obviously
this fine tapestry conjured up some very special memories
for Mr. Hogeye. Ken thought it best not to ask. "This
is it! This is the very painting that I've been looking for
my whole life! Oh thank you, Trailer Woman! Thank you so much!
How soon can I get this delivered?!" "I can mail
in your order this week, and you should have it within ten
days!" Mr. Hogeye was unable to contain his joy. He hugged
Trailer Woman, and then Ken. He placed his order and left
Trailer Woman a 75-cent tip. (That's close to $100 in Arkansas
money.) As they drove away, Mr. Hogeye was whistling and singing
to himself. Ken was in shock...the blood level of his alcohol
had gone way too high. He needed an emergency cocktail immediately!
Thank God he spotted Ruth's Hole-in-the-Wall and was able
to convince Mr. Hogeye to pull over.
While Ken dined on fine chili (again, native to the Cascades)
and seven vodka tonics, Mr. Hogeye made several phone calls
to his friends and family back home. He told them all what
a wonderful time he was having, and how excited he was that
he had finally found his poker playing dog tapestry.
The happy couple returned back to town late in the afternoon.
Ken's blood level had once again diminished, so he was feeling
just fine. He suggested they stop by REI and check out the
latest in outdoor survival gear before dinner. Mr. Hogeye
was game, just as Ken thought he would be. While Mr. Hogeye
tried on backpacks and was fitted with waterproof survival
gear, Ken busied himself standing under the rock climbing
obstacle course. It provided a fine view...right up the climber's
shorts. Ken giggled to himself...he felt like a third grader
again. From the climbing tower, Ken proceeded to the outdoor
fashion section. He tried on a fabulous one-piece bug bonnet,
and modeled it for several minutes before a salesperson asked
him to either buy it or put it back. "Sorry! Oh by the
way...I was wondering. I notice that you sell professional
kneepads. Well, I'm just a beginner and was wondering if you
also sold amateur knee pads." The salesperson was not
as amused as Ken, and asked that Ken move along. Recalling
a famous line from AbFab, Ken quipped "You're just a
shop clerk Sweetie! Who are YOU to throw ME attitude?!"
A chuckle came from across the aisle. It was none other than
Boyd Madson, of National Geographic fame. Ken was tempted
to ask for his autograph, but opted not to. He was getting
hungry, and Boyd probably didn't have a pen. Ken spotted Mr.
Hogeye in the checkout line, and knew that it was time to
go.
Mama's margaritas once again drew them in, and as had happened
previously, a time vortex occurred.
Mr. Hogeye left Sunday afternoon, and Ken was quite excited
at the prospect of exploring Seattle without having to interview
all of the Hari Krishna monks on the street (a favorite pastime
of Mr. Hogeye.) He couldn't decide what to do with his free
time. Should he find a lovely little bistro or cafe and watch
the world go by? Should he stop in a local pub and perform
a vodka tasting? He had even considered just relaxing and
having a massage from one of Seattle's finest referral services.
Unfortunately none of these choices ever came to fruition.
In his heightened state of euphoria over Mr. Hogeye's departure,
Ken managed to lock the rental car keys inside of the car.
Several hours and frantic phone calls later, Ken was actually
looking forward to returning home to Casa Lesbo. He had survived
the weekend in Seattle. It would be better next time, he was
sure of it. The unidentified card in his wallet told him so.
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