The Next Story

The next story on the blog, due Friday, is another humor piece.  This one was created from snippets of real life events, from my childhood.  Yes, my sister really did that too me.  I may embellish a detail or two; "improve" is what I like to call it.  I'm sure she doesn't remember it quite the same, but my version is "improved," and I was actually closer to 6-years-old during the true event.

New Short Story

The Goree Intellect Averaging Principle -  The new short story explains a lot about men.  Though written in a silly childish way that will probably meet the reading needs of guys ... ladies, it will explain much about those men you love, and wonder why you do.
http://kens-shorts.blogspot.com/

The Goree Intellect Averaging Principle

            In the following investigation of several case studies I clarify certain events that will enable the reader to understand a particular truth from the sciences of psychology and sociology, and endocrinology.  Each of the following case studies have been changed so as to not name any specific individual, describe recognizable physical characteristics as to make individuals readily recognizable within a group of his or her peers, or to remain completely faithful to the specific details of each case.

At the conclusion of this article, a main, indisputable truth will be outlined (The Goree Intellect Averaging Principle).  The aggregation of the data in these studies will render reader, layman or doctoral philosopher powerless to find fault, or alternate theoretical ground.

Case 1:

A call is taken to a triage nurse at County General Hospital, as relayed by 911 being dialed on a cell phone.   Hospital operators kept an open line of communication while an aid unit was in route, and the conversation was recorded.  Screams could be heard in the background.  The male on the phone seemed distracted and at times unintelligible.

Operator: “An aid unit is on its way.  Could you explain the nature of the injury, Sir?”

Hysterical Friend:  “Like, I thought he was going to blow up, Dude.”

Operator:  “I am a ma'am, Sir.  Not a Dude.  Could you more fully explain the nature of the injury, Sir?”

Hysterical Friend:  “Yeah.  Like, it’s chili night, you know, and me and Jim, and Bill, and Rickster, and Rondo were piggin’ on some major beanage, ya know?  Then we were laid back polishin’ of a few brews when Rickster says ‘Gimme your lighter, Dude.” So like, I give him my lighter.  The next thing I know he bends over, blows some stink, and as this flame lights up the apartment he yells ‘eight-point-four on the Rickster scale Man.’ 

Operator:  “Is Rickster your injured friend, Sir?”

Hysterical Friend:  “No, no.  That’s Rondo.  He gets all jealous cuz Rickter looks so cool.  We all yell, ‘No, don’t do it, Man.  You’re too hairy.’ And he really is hairy; like sasquatch hairy.  Do you think he listens to us?  Not even.  He blows and sparks up.  And just as the flame starts up he hiccups.  Oh man, you never saw a pair of buns get toasty so fast.  Old Rondo dropped to floor before we knew what was happening and he started scooting along like a poodle on speed.  I don’t think the real fire got him any, but he has rug burns all over his butt from doin’ the poodle scoot.”

Operator:  “Do I understand correctly, Sir, that there are five males together without female supervision?”

Hysterical Friend:  “Uh, Yeah.”

Operator: “I see, Sir.  I believe I understand the nature of your problem.  An aid worker will be there momentarily to administer salve to your friend.  This worker will also administer estrogen shots to you and the rest of your friends, Sir.”

Hysterical Friend:  “Will it give us a buzz?”

Operator:  “I’m sure it will help to eliminate many of the problems with brain function that you are now experiencing, Sir.”

Hysterical Friend:  “Cool.”

Operator:  “Sir, I have a call that the Aid unit has pulled up in front of an apartment that has your address.  They want to verify that your apartment has a sign on the front door that says ‘No Fat Chicks.’  Is that your residence, Sir?”

Hysterical Friend:  “Ya.”

Operator:  “When the paramedic comes in, Sir.  Tell him that Marge said you are eligible for a double dose.  Hopefully that will help, Sir.”

Hysterical Friend:  “Righteous.”

Case 2:

Four young boys are hospitalized with symptoms of shock and hearing damage after they throw a cup of homemade nitroglycerin off a farmer’s barn roof. 

“I figured it couldn’t be all that bad since the recipe was in the encyclopedia,” said one boy. 

“I never knew what a mushroom cloud was before.” Said a second boy.

“What did you say?” Said a third boy.

The other boys failed to respond to any of this interviewer’s questions; or to even realize the interviewer was speaking.

After being asked what reason the boys could have had for perpetrating such a dangerous act, the first boy responded, “Well, my dad said I could have an Xbox, when pigs fly.  I guess I took care of that, didn’t I?”

Case 3:

From an article in the Appalachian Tribune Herald Gazette; The bodies of four unidentified youths were brought into county general hospital today.  The dead boys were fishing on Jacobsen pond at daybreak, during this morning’s heavy wind.  The cause of death appears to be shock and physical trauma sustained when an unexpected shift in the wind blew their fishing gear (dynamite) back into their twelve foot aluminum skiff.  Closed casket services will be held for the young men Sunday afternoon at the conclusion of the University of Minnesota vs Puerto Rico State curling match.  Time to be adjusted for commercial breaks.

            If the reader has noticed, there are certain similarities between the three cases.  First, all participants were male.  Second, there were multiple males together in a group.  And third, though not absolutely critical to the foundations of the following theory, all of the males appear to be under the age of twenty-five. 

The details of these cases, as well as my own experiences as a young male, a teenage male, a male in my twenties, a male in my thirties, a male currently in my forties, and a teacher of males in the sixth grade, as well as a general observer of the absurd, have led to the formulation of:  

The Goree Intellect Averaging Principle. 

In order to quantify this theory, the first given that must be accepted by the reader is that the average human intelligence is an IQ (intelligence quotient) of 100.  The principle states that:

            Males, when left unattended, must divide the average IQ of 100 between all males present. 

Therefore, if four males are in attendance they must divide the total average IQ by four.  This leaves each with an IQ of 25; only one IQ point higher than is necessary to continue the bodily function of breathing.

Following with this principle, if Einstein and three of his peers were left unsupervised, they would likely end up being the subjects in case study 1.

Sleeping Out

            I work in a building where many of my co-workers complain about the mold and mildew.  They say it arouses their allergies, and they have taken to calling it a “sick building.”  If I were to start referring to it as such, I would say that the name might have more to do with the attitude of the occupants than the structure itself.

            I personally adore the smell.  To me that smell is a doorway in time, back to my childhood.  It is the smell of a canvas tent, well used and put away by a small boy whose definition of dry wasn’t quite the same as his father’s. 

            That tent was my first avenue to the adventures of camping out.  My father had come home with the tent, one day when I was five.  It wasn’t new, which even at five I could tell.  I don’t know where he had picked it up, probably a ditch on the side of the road, but I was five and new or old didn’t matter to me.  I had a tent. 

            My cousin had had a tent, but apparently it hadn’t fared too well on a cold December campout in his back yard.  Flammable not being a word that had become part of my cousin’s vocabulary at that point, his unwise efforts to provide some lifesaving heat had proved problematic for the tent.

            The day my father came home with the tent was magical.  We thought, talked and acted like mountain men all day long, without the scratching and cussing that is.  That night we cooked out over a campfire.  We ate like I’m sure all the best mountain men ate (popcorn and root beer floats).  Then we finished the night snoring away to the delightful, moldy scent of old canvas.  I thought the evening a total success. 

            The next weekend, my tentless cousin came to spend the night.  The food was about the same, but he added a bit of authenticity to the night with what I was sure was some authentic mountain man style cussing and scratching.  Though flammable wasn’t part of his vocabulary, he had obviously spent enough time around mountain men to acquire some of their other linguistic peculiarities.  By the sound of it, those mountain men had been pounding their fingers with hammers, and dropping heavy objects on their toes while my cousin was engaged in new vocabulary acquisition.

            The popcorn and root beer float portion of the evening was enjoyable, as it had been the previous weekend with my father.  I must admit I enjoyed the show of cussing and scratching as well, but before we had been out more than a couple hours I noticed a strange phenomenon.  In just the one week since I had spent the night out with my father, the nights had become noticeably darker, exponentially so.  And where just the week before there hadn’t been so much as an owl, cat or stray dog that had come to visit, my cousin and I were experiencing what could be described as a monsoon of monsters and viscous animals.  We could hear them just on the other side of the canvas. 

            The night before I had been lucky enough to stay up late and watch the first half of The Blob, on Nightmare Theater. 

Good Parent Advice - If you are going to let your young child watch the beginning of a scary movie, it is imperative that at the point in the movie that your child sees the monster, you must realize you have reached the point of no return.  You must allow the child to watch the movie to the conclusion, where the heroes defeat the monster and the world is safe once more.  Otherwise that monster will arrive in your child’s life every time the light gets low enough to make reading difficult.

            As I was saying, the night before I had gotten my first glimpse of The Blob.  I knew the Blob still lived because I had seen its gelatinous mass quivering in the doctor’s office after consuming the teenager that had come across it in the woods.

            Soon after we had bedded down, my cousin complaining that the smell of the tent was affecting his allergies, I heard the wet mucusy sounds of an approaching gooey mass.  I shook my cousin awake. 

            “Chance, it’s the Blob.”  Even though the sounds of the monster’s approach had stopped as it heard me croak the warning to my cousin, Chance obviously appreciated the gravity of the situation.

            “What?!  The Blob!  Help, Uncle Paul!” Chance yelled as he exited through the side of tent, where previously there had been no exit.  The last echoes of my father’s name still quivered in the air as my cousin entered my house.  He was soon joined by me and the rest of my family who had been awakened by Chance’s screech.  It was then that I noticed something I had been suspecting since I had first learned of the existence of mountain men.  Mountain men sleep in the buff.  My sister also learned something that the other girls at school wouldn’t believe her about until they found out for themselves in the seventh grade growth and development class.

            My cousin and I later figured that mountain men must survive through employing the same glass-shattering, high-pitched screech.  It obviously was capable of frightening away a full grown Blob, so surely it would be capable of driving off something as insignificant, by comparison, as a grizzly bear.

            Armed with a new knowledge of sleeping out survival tactics, I spent many nights sleeping out with friends that summer.  Almost every time I would hear the mucusy respiration of the Blob.  I was however, never able to get tentmate corroboration of these sighting, or rather, listenings.  Each campout evening, the Blob would stealthily depart immediately upon my rousing whatever companion was in attendance.  That friend would then spend the rest of the night listening for the same wet sound that caused me to awaken the him.  However, on not one occasion did the gelatinous devil return after my tent companion had awakened.  I took this as an obvious sigh that the beast was as clever as it was evil.

            I always explained to my companions that they need not worry while camping out with me, because I had learned many valuable lifesaving mountain man skills.  The “screech” and the appropriate use of the emergency mountain man tent exit which my cousin had been kind enough to create in the side of the tent, earlier that summer.  With these two skills, I would tell my fellow camper, survival was assured, or at least pretty likely.

            I still have that old tent.  It must be fifty or sixty years old by now.  I went to the garage today and pulled it out.  I unrolled the lovely, pasty green package and was greeted with that familiar nostalgic scent.  My eyes began to tear up as I spread out the wrinkled green fabric.  The old ropes felt rough against my hands, like I remembered they always had, and I heard the resonating clank of heavy long steel nails that we had used as tent stakes.  My father would have used those nails on landscape timbers thirty-something years ago if they hadn’t found their way into those folds of green canvas. 

            I snuffled a sigh through mucusy nostrils and rolled the package shut again to the clack of wooden tent poles.  Instead of pushing my old friend back to the hidden recesses of garage shelves, I hid it in my car.  It would be a present for my son, tomorrow.  A dense wrinkled green something that looked like it had been found on the side of the road. 

            Smiling, I took out a handkerchief and sneezed my way back into the house.