Short Storys and the Like

Olivia Rolling into the tiny town of Emeritus, Alabama at 3 a.m. we were met by 2nd cousin Juanita, a shy seventeen year old small town girl who was, smart enough, modestly attractive, and congenial. Her claim to infamy was that she had given birth to quadruplets at the ripe young age of fifteen. Popular rumor had it that the brood was fathered by her Daddy's boss, Dean Kersey. the Lumber Mill Foreman. Dean a typical backwoods bearded "good ole boy" was an avid hunter, mostly turkey and hog. When hunting he had an effective but unpleasant habit of covering himself in Hog pheromone, the problem was that he would fail to wash it off often days later. I don't know how he obliviously strutted about wreaking of hog pheromone, Juanita must have suffered or in this case not suffered from anosmia. Juanita named her illegitimate quartet Andy (not Andrew), Dean Jr, (Dean being the only female quadruplet), Jean, and King. Juanita works at the local Pep Boys, and not at the counter. She has a three-legged bitch cur named Olivia. Her favorite color is opaque. Dean moved to Port Arthur Texas, where he owns and single-handedly operates a roadside fireworks stand. While in Emeritus we visited one of the many cotton fields in the area, it was a first for me. I had never seen cotton growing, or at least had never seen it up close. It's a squatty, burly, sort of ugly plant, but the raw cotton looks just like the little delicate cotton balls, the kind they set out on the make up counter up at the Wal-Mart. I'm always amazed at how raw material is morphed into the finished product. I realize I'm not an engineer, or even a "how' does that work ?" kind of guy, but the manufacturing process in general is nothing short of amazing to me. I'm OK with the Ice cream to milkshake process, and Pinto Beans to Refried Bean Dip doesn't really stump me, but a worm, a simple silk worm, producing a three-thousand dollar Armani suit just puzzles me all to hell. Dean a habitual generic menthol cigarette smoker, eventually set his fireworks stand ablaze, the up side being that a young Port Arthur boy of six upon witnessing the spectacular and unexpected display lauded praise upon his parents for making his birthday one to remember. The young boy was especially impressed with the rather frantic clown act that featured a man with a foul smelling flaming beard. Thank You Steve Sperry Mighty Sight Studio http://mightysight.com

Half A Freak Lofty endeavors, such as divine mystical understanding, selfless service to mankind or subtle life lessons of any kind are not the main attraction at the Florida State Fair. The prevailing venue is that of rickety thrill-rides, rigged gambling, greasy foods and lots and lots of hype. The crowd consists of an ambling blank faced hoard, devoid of any thought loftier than, "should I get me another Elephant Ear?" Fair food is a menu of vinegar soaked French Fries limp with grease, turkey drumsticks roasted to the point of turkey jerky, great pink plumes of cotton candy, amorphous wads of deep fried cheese, and the all time staple favorite, the Corn Dog or Pronto Pup. Food vendors attempting to peddle sprouts, tofu, or steamed vegetables fail miserably and almost immediately. The Midway is where the crowd goes to be dropped from great heights or slung around at high speeds, while listening to Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell. Attractions such as the Mediation Pit or the Spiritual Reading tent attract few visitors. Another favorite, the gaming area is nothing short of absolutely fascinating and is a source of wonderment to Physics and Engineering professors. The accompanying barkers explain loudly and incessantly, how easy it is to toss a quarter on to a plate and win your choice of a giant stuffed animal. If truth in advertising laws applied their patter would go something like this, "Hey you there! Yeah you!, with the obviously inept throwing arm, wanna loose your money?" All you gotta do is toss your hard earned quarters on these slick, convex plates. Probability of pulling it off is approximately 1 in a 100 million, give it a try. We guarantee you’ll throw your money directly on the ground, step right up!" Missing at today’s fair due to the current era of annoying social correctness is the once infamous Sideshow. We no longer allow ourselves to view Freaks openly and in public, Freak viewing is restricted to the family television. The Alligator Boy, Tiny Lady, and Monkey Girl, have been replaced by the transsexual who was once a man who was then changed to a woman, who now wants to be a man again so he can enjoy a homosexual relationship with his own uncle, who was neutered in a horrible mowing mishap. It was easier comprehending the idea of a guy who was half reptile. To me the Sideshow was the heart or in some cases the double heart of the Fair. In one of those seamy Sideshow tents something happened that profoundly changed me forever. As a young child going to the Fair included parental accompaniment. For one thing the Fair wasn’t located in a pasture like it is now, it was down town, and as a kid you didn’t go down town by yourself especially to the Fair. I’m not sure I even wanted to go to the Fair without mom and dad, it was sort of scary, it was crowded, and chock full of weirdoes. I didn’t have squat for money, so if nothing else I needed the folks to subsidize my outing. As kids the only thing at the Fair worth seeing was the Midway and of course for me the Sideshow, unfortunately my parents had absolutely no time for the Sideshow, they were much more interested in the Lakeland Orange Pavilion. We always had to spend the agonizingly appropriate amount of time going through each boring pavilion, looking at the peanut growers, the seemingly endless agriculture displays and the apiarists with their bee stuff. Big deal ! We were then forced to slowly wander through the Livestock Expo. Dad was once a Kansas farmer so I guess I understood his longing to re-experience his youth on the farm. Actually I thought the Livestock Expo was pretty cool, it stunk with an intensity that is hard to describe, funk like you can’t imagine. I used to tease my sister, Linda, by pointing out the great steaming mounds of cow and pig crap. She would always squawk loudly about how gross it was, and tattle to Mom that I was making her look at crap. Leaving Olfactory Hell we headed for the Midway. My sister and I were like anxious horses at a starting gate, we couldn’t wait to get spun around until we puked. Mom and Dad would offer a few words of caution, and suggest tame rides like the merry go round or the baby Ferris wheel. Linda and I would beg to go on the Flaming Wheel of Sudden Death. Eventually Mom and Dad would acquiesce and let us go on a thrill ride, we would spin around at great speeds until we puked and/or wet our pants. Every year as we hit the Midway I would start my subtle campaign to see the Sideshow, it was an up hill battle, but I had a single-minded objective and would not be denied. Part of the problem with the Sideshow was its proximity to the girlie shows. By today’s standards the girlie shows of the Midway were about as naughty as the Weekie Wachee Mermaid routine. I would point out to Dad the educational aspect of the sideshow. I would explain to him that since I had never been to Europe, seeing the great giant rats of the French Sewers would be a once in a lifetime educational opportunity. He would readily dismiss the exhibit as a fraud and explain something about the rats actually being Louisiana nutrias. He had an explanation for it all, to him the Sideshow was a series of well orchestrated frauds. He used to say, "it’s all smoke and mirrors, don’t waste your money." I would even try to capitalize on his weakness for farm life by pointing out the two-headed cow. Nothing seemed to get past his stoic refusals, frustrated. I decided to try a sneak attack. As kids we were well chaperoned, breaking out on a solo mission while at the fair was almost impossible, I say almost because over the years my desire to see the Sideshow had motivated me to figure out an escape route. The folks weren’t much on the Penny Arcade, I guess they had seen it all before, and it was noisy, a bit stinky, crowded with kids, and to them, once again a waste of money. We had over the years established a Penny Arcade routine. Mom and Dad would take us to the tent, go in for about five minutes and then, tell us we had a remaining twenty five minutes in which to play the pinball machines test our strength at the arm grip, view the old Buster Keaton stereoscopes, flatten a Lincoln penny in the metal press, etc . This routine had offered up a chance for escape. I planned to swear my sister to secrecy duck out the back of the Arcade and haul ass to the Sideshow. The distance was about two hundred yards, mired by slow moving crowds. I could make it in about four minutes leaving me plenty of time for a tour of the Sideshow. I had the plan detailed in my mind, right down to the minute. I even knew exactly what I wanted to peruse once I was inside the tent. The seductively enticing Snake Lady was on the top of my list followed by the Alligator Man and the Tiny Lady who lived in a bottle. I would hurry past the Sword Swallower and the Fire-Eater, and had straight for the Giant Rat, Two-Headed Cow, and Siamese Twins. I really wanted to see those Siamese Twins. If I had any precious time left, I could catch a glimpse of the less fantastic freaks such as the Fat lady, Bearded Woman, and Monkey Girl. The day came, we were heading for the Penny Arcade. I had to remain poker faced or my dad might suspect something, I couldn’t afford for him to say. "I’ve never seen you so excited about the Penny Arcade," he might then follow me in to see what all the excitement was about, the plan would be foiled. It was all about to happen, the folks escorted us to the entrance of the arcade and dutifully prepared to post guard outside. I gave my sister a wink, hurried past the pinball machines and ducked out the back. I was free! I whipped around, focused a determined stare at the seductive Sideshow banners, and executed a broken field run any pro running back would have been proud of. Owing to my sense of anticipation and intense will, I made it under the allotted four minutes. As I prepared to cough up my fifty cents and enter the tent I looked up in wonderment at the explicit banner depicting the Snake Lady, I thought to myself she was the most beautifully seductive creature I had ever laid eyes on, I couldn’t wait. Mere seconds and a few steps were all that separated me from what I imagined as the event of a lifetime. I paid the guy at the entrance, a freak in his own right, stepped through the tent flap, and was in. Snake lady, Snake Lady, my eyes scanned feverishly. Standing in a corner on an unpainted wooden platform was a pudgy middle aged woman holding a listless Boa Constrictor. She was wearing a one-piece bathing suit kind of like the one my mom wears when she works in the yard during the summer. Underneath the bathing suite she was wearing a badly tattered beige body suit, it made her look like she had saggy dingy brown skin, the opposite of what the body suit was intended to accomplish. Instead of being beautifully seductive as the banner had portrayed, she reminded me more of Mable Nelson, the elderly principal of Roosevelt Elementary School, a fine and gracious woman, but not at all seductive. The Snake Lady was the first in a stream of disappointing images. The enticing artistically licensed banners outside no more resembled the people inside than my crude stick figure renderings resembled sexy Bond Girl Ursula Andress. The Alligator Boy had some rare skin disease that granted made him look pretty weird, but an actual Alligator with a man’s head, that was stretching artistic license to the point of ridiculousness. The Tiny Lady in a bottle was a scam, smoke and mirrors just as dad had told me. She was a thirty-eight inch dwarf, nowhere near the six inch high lady I had expected, based again on the misleading banner outside. The bottle she lived in was big enough to house the family Collie. My disappointment now mounting I turned toward the rest of the freaks. The Two Headed Cow had been dead for decades, and for all I knew could have been a stuffed animal. The Giant Parisian Sewer Rat was not very rat looking, I really didn’t know what a nutria was, but I was starting to think maybe dad knew what he was talking about. The Siamese twins were authentic, they were joined at the head, and I guess they had to stay that way, since separating them meant only one of them would be able to continue living. I imagined how very difficult their life must be, and as I viewed them a strange uneasiness washed over me. We had always been taught as kids not to stare at people who were different, My parents explained that some people got dealt a bad hand in life and other people staring at them only made it worse. Everywhere I looked there were pockets of people pointing and staring blank faced at the various freaks, the whole ordeal was starting to feel very sordid. My eyes scanned for something real and spectacular but were met with one disappointment after another. The mundane Fire-Eater was now starting to catch my interest. There was a juggler, a guy in a dirty tuxedo doing pitiful magic tricks even I could figure out, and an overweight lady with a spotty beard ----- big deal! Looking at my watch, I had about six minutes remaining, just enough time to get back and sneak into the arcade undetected. Just t I was thinking what a disappointing hyped up bunch of crap the Sideshow had been, I stopped to take a final look at what was billed as the Half Lady, it was just some poor woman with no legs. As I paused in front of her to gape, she looked up at me with eyes that seemed to have infinite wisdom and understanding. I felt she looked past my blank gaze and in to my deeper consciousness, which really wasn’t much for my eight years of age. Being startled by her piercing stare, I felt compelled to say something. I hadn’t communicated in any way with any of the other Freaks since I guess I regarded them as exhibits and didn’t think much of their humanity. Not knowing what to say, I blurted out naively, "what’s it like being a Freak?" She leveled her piercing eyes at me and stated with precision and with a sense of infinite understanding, "don’t you know?" I gave her a puzzled look, turned away confused and headed for the exit. Another great broken field run and I was back at the Arcade, no one the wiser, except my sister who’s kitchen duty responsibilities I assumed for the next month, under the guise of being a benevolent big brother. I wondered for weeks what that half a person was trying to tell me. I felt she had tried to convey much in those few words, "don’t you know?" I had only my nine-year old brain to figure out her puzzling comment, but It finally came to me after much pondering. You see, the real Freak was me. I had betrayed my parent's trust, risked a stern belt spanking, and a month's worth of restrictions, and had let myself be completely duped by nothing more than plain old garden variety hype. I had risked an array of consequences just to gape at some folks who I shouldn’t have been staring at in the first place. Who they were as human beings, their dreams, and aspirations, ultimately transcended their inconsequential physical abnormalities. The real Freak was the blank faced little nine-year old Voyeur. I got something out of that Sideshow experience, and it wasn’t what I had expected, I believe it was something much more. Thank You Steve Sperry Mighty Sight Studio http://mightysight.com

Is The World Producing More Jerks ? And Are They Harmful To The Environment ? I'm of the opinion Jerks are not simply hatched but are nurtured or better yet festered into existence. This is not unlike the great homosexual debate, one camp lined up behind the DNA Coding Theory, the other staunchly gathered round the Socialization or Conditioning Theory. I personally believe sexual identity is determined by the Easter Bunny quite possibly in conjunction with the beloved Disney character Jiminy Cricket. Jiminy and the Bunny creep in to each pregnant mothers room while she sleeps and sprinkle either hetero or homo dust on the belly, it then sifts thru to the womb and establishes the child's sexual identity. I believe they work on a simple quota system, not too may gays not too many straights, just the right balance. At any rate I believe the healthy thing for us to do as a conscientious society is to discuss this matter passionately and indefinitely, even as the planet melts away from scorching heat or implodes from it's life juices being sucked out barrel by barrel. I'm absolutely sure the matter of sex organ utilization is singularly the most important issue we can all focus our attention on. With that said, I still can't help but laugh at the sight of a hairy legged man in a nice yellow sun dress. Mr.Vaughn, the burly thick-thighed Phys Ed coach at San Carlo Junior High was purported to be a big fan of the sun dress, I believe he shopped exclusively at Lane Bryant and wore every bit of a size twenty. There are a number of different ways to identify a Jerk. The very nature of a Jerk normally makes them easy to spot, subtlety not being their long suit. Jerks are usually loud, and wear entirely too much fugazi cologne. Jerks are notoriously poor tippers, justifying their miserly behavior with comments such as; "It's her job to bring me nine glasses of sweet tea", or "that third plate of all you can eat riblets was a little dry", or "that 64 oz. Finish it and it's Free Rump Roast tasted like horse meat". Jerks are experts on all subjects, ranging from silk worm production to land speed records year by year dating back to 1946. Factual integrity is not as important as an unyielding demonstrative delivery. My Uncle Norman a self professed Jerk when making a statement such as "you know if a porpoise and a manatee were to mate, they would produce a form of whale" would follow up with "look it up it's a fact! " I never quite knew where the hell to look up his factoids, but I guess he felt "look it up it's a fact! " was all he needed to validate his preposterous comments. Jerks know all the Jeopardy answers, even the really obscure and difficult ones. The catch is they always simply acknowledge the answer after the fact with a smug "I knew that". We all know a Jerk or two and have quite possibly at times been a Jerk ourselves. Anyone can be a Jerk, it's not difficult. With a little practice and modicum of devotion you can be severely annoying friends as well as complete strangers in no time at all. Jerks are all about: "I used to" or "I'm going to" * I used to sit in on bass with the Rolling Stones, back when they were really hot. - Coming from a guy who has no idea who Bill Wyman is * I used to spar with Bruce Lee; he wasn't as fast as you think Coming from a guy who's sister can still take him in a fair fight * I used to bench press 450 - In Miligrams * I used to have a 32 inch waist - When you were in the third grade * I used to go out with a model A cheap plastic model of a more or less anatomically correct female *I'm going to take up Fly Fishing - When Fish learn how to Fly Fish * I'm going to join a karate school - When they open a school on planet Venus * I'm going to join a Gym and get into power lifting After you have another dozen beers with your drinking comrade Jim * I'm going to go back to school - Your GED anxiously awaits * I'm going to quit my job and start my own business - You're going to quit your job Simple Guidelines to Follow if you wish to Succeed as a Jerk * Talk over others incessantly - no need to wait for a pause in the conversation, simply blurt out your inane commentary at will. * Look at your watch repeatedly while others are speaking with you. * High Five a lot, even after a particularly rousing hymnal. * Never let others ahead of you in traffic, use your horn frequently. Swear at Pedestrians. * Split hairs theologically, if you are an Anointed Living Water Mountain Baptist, aggressively condemn all Anointed Living Water Valley Baptists. * Divulge to others the cost of every luxury item you possess or plan to possess. * In great detail describe how you beat down the car dealership on the price of your new Suburban. * Constantly use "air quotes" even when simply clearing your throat. * Prop your feet up on everything even if it's a rare mint condition Louis XIV gilded commode. Make sure your shoes are on, preferably Vibram sole work boots * Yell at the TV, bitch about the Tele-Tubbies, lecherously comment about Kelly Ripa * Complain loudly about Non-English speaking peoples, even when visiting their country. * Leave your air conditioned corner office, stroll into the 110 degree Warehouse and strike up a conversation about boats with the Heat Exhausted Labor Staff, Complain about how your 42 foot Sea Ray Sport Yacht has a hopelessly inadequate second head, make sure you complain to a group of guys who are going in together to buy a $325 fixer upper amenities free fishing boat. * And last but not least, write a "tongue n' cheek" short story about Jerks. Thank You Steve Sperry Mighty Sight Studio http://mightysight.com

Suggestion Box I am in charge of maintaining the company Suggestion Box. I naively volunteered with grande ideas of "making a difference" The securely locked reinforced 12"x16" unpainted box is located near the Company Cafeteria. The proximity to the cafeteria has guaranteed that I remove a moldy Tater-Tot from the Box on a weekly basis. The Tot is not so bad, it's the Lasagna I mind. Simply writing on the provided suggestion form; "Please have Lasagna more often" would be sufficient. A licensed commercial contractor produced the box at a cost of $210. The project took 122 days from start to finish, owing to the avalanche of triplicate paper work that had to generated, approved, and signed by no less than 5 company officials. I will share with you some of the comments I have removed from the Suggestion Box. * I have no suggestions but do have comments, concerns, complaints, frustrations, irritations, aggravations, insinuations, allegations, and accusations, can you tell me where to stick them? * To Quote scenes from the movie Apocalypse Now; "Kill them All", "the Horror" * Insert your Suggestion Box into your Fecal Ejection Port * I suggest a seat be provided next to my desk for my imaginary friend * I suggest Danny in Accounting be required to wear a Gelding Harness * I suggest (Anonymous) I be in charge of adjusting said Gelding Harness * I suggest the Cafeteria double as a Cock Fighting Arena * I suggest we be allowed to have Pets in our cubicles - I have a pet Mandrill * I suggest the water fountain flow free with reconstituted Tapioca * Dear Suggestion Box, I am the Suggestion Box across the street at the Battery Manufacturing Plant. I have been admiring you for months from afar. How bout we go get a coffee? * I have introduced a family of Formosan Subterranean Termites into your Box, you will soon be a mere heap of splinters * Rename the Suggestion Box - the Suggestion Abyss * From - Gwen Caro-Davies Director of Marketing: Exchange Student Intern Angelo De La Parte has recently joined the Marketing Department Team. He is spending time with each Department within our Organization. I have assigned him the responsibility of analyzing Suggestion Box activity. He will be working with you on a daily basis beginning Fourth Quarter. He speaks only his native tongue of Basque. If you have questions or concerns please feel free to contact my Administrative Assistant - Lenora Gesterling * Please remove the lid from the Suggestion Box so that it can be used as a planter * I live inside the Suggestion Box after hours, I need some tiny furniture, a .000025 ton Air Conditioner, running water (not the Tapioca), full tiny major appliances, and a six-inch tall paramour Thank You Steve Sperry Mighty Sight Studio http://mightysight.com

Frog or Stinger We played a game as teens, called "Frog or Stinger". The game required lightning fast imagination and the useless ability to spit out a peculiar name at three second intervals. The penalty for failure was your choice of either a Frog or a Stinger. A Stinger was simply a modified Frog, which although initially more painful carried less of a lingering effect. The Stinger was executed by pinching up a thumb and index finger full of bicep flesh then striking it with a knuckled fist. The Stinger properly delivered generated a formidable spike of pain not unlike a bee sting, hence the name Stinger. Bruising was minimal. The standard Frog was just like the Stinger but without the pinching of the flesh. One simply formed a knuckled fist and forcefully struck the wincing victimn the arm. The standard Frog ached longer and usually caused a little mild bruising. If you failed to choose between a Frog or Stinger quick enough, (three seconds) you were awarded both. The best way to avoid both the Frog and/or Stinger was to keep up your repertoire of peculiar names. You never knew when someone would challenge you to a duel. We had some fairly sophisticated rules concerning what constituted a peculiar name. A overtly silly name did not qualify as a peculiar name. Names such as Orville Higgenbothom, Cecil Diddlepiddle, or Artie Spinnerspock, almost certainly earned you a punch in the arm. You could protest, but usually a punch was delivered long before a defense could be mounted. Plagiarizing standard joke names such as Sally Letchufeel, I. P. Freely, Mike Hunt, Seymour Butts, or Peter Draggin, were a sure fire punch in the arm. A peculiar name had to sound quasi-plausible, but mostly unusual, or peculiar. Often we deployed a name or sound that wasn't really a proper name of any kind. Below is a small sample of the more memorable names we uttered in our sometimes hours long Frog or Stinger battles. * Jean Guester Jr. * Aaron Bustule * Larry Okaskafe * Caper Sendway * Brutus Olinamie * Mary Betty Cah * Everett DeLaParte * Cynthia Estrechia * Opa Belgartha * Freida Oust (re-use of a name within a match earns you a punch in the arm) Thank You Steve Sperry Mighty Sight Studio http://mightysight.com

Hardware Heaven or Hell or How I Found a Bag of #6 Wood Screws Over a gradual period of time I've switched Hardware Store loyalties. For a number of years simple proximity was all it took for me to subject myself to "Hardware Dan's". "Hardware Dan's", is three miles from my home - Larry's, triple the distance at almost nines miles. I've painfully discovered it is well worth driving the extra few miles. Larry's would have to be located in a remote Tunisian village before I would opt for the more convenient three mile drive. Price point and inventory being similar, factors such as customer service and overall shopping experience have influenced my decision. The Comparison Larry's: Locates their stores next to establishments like; Saks Fifth Avenue, Crate & Barrel, Lord & Taylor, etc. Restaurants like Carabba's, Ruby Tuesday's, Applebee's, etc. Sometimes beautiful parks, complete with petting zoo and complimentary ice cream. Hardware Dan's: Locates their stores next to establishments like; The County's Pauper's Grave Cemetery. A Solid-Waste Incinerator, Jimmy's Last Chance Bail Bonds, An unlicensed deviled crab stand, recently shut down by the Health Department. Larry's: The parking lot is as tidy and well maintained as a Dutch Lady's Tulip Garden. Even the customers park in an orderly manner. Shopping carts, from the grocery store type on up to those eight-wheeled rolling platforms used for transporting a small home are never strewn about the lot. Shopping carts are lined up at the front of the store like spit shine military school cadets. Hardware Dan's: The majority of parking spaces are occupied by shopping carts. If you will be needing a shopping cart, don't bother to enter the store before securing one. The only carts you will find inside are piled high with returned merchandise or items for restock, or are partially filled and abandoned by customers who gave up while waiting in the checkout line. Larry's: Stock is always where it is supposed to be, and behind each opened container is the next full box ready for disbursement. I believe Larry's deploys a sizeable army of fastidious Gnomes whose sole purpose in life is to immediately return misplaced merchandise to it's rightful position on the display rack. Nothing ever seems to be out of place. Actual re-stocking during business hours is performed unobtrusively, bordering on clandestinely. Hardware Dan's: Stock may be anywhere at anytime, you might find a bag of cement mix in the carpet and flooring isle, plumbing parts in the electrical isle, or a Sego Palm in the Roofing Isle. The "Hardware Dan's" location I used to frequent was out of a simple PVC elbow for over a month. Just for kicks I like to visit the Nuts and Bolts Miscellaneous Hardware Section. You know the area, it's where all the little bags an boxes and bins of little screws and bolts and whatnots are kept. Granted this area is ripe for chaos, but here it takes on a life of it's own, almost an art form. I'm convinced that the stock is loaded into a giant Mixmaster, then sprayed in the isle. Customers in this section look like a flock of Ibis patrolling the surf in search of an illusive fiddler crab. Sometimes shoppers come to this section and stay for days just to find the right part, maybe just a simple bag of (#6 / 1") Metal Screws. Ohhh the Humanity! Larry's: Immaculately clean, well organized, and well lit. Anita Baker's "Caught up in the Rapture of Love" softly wafts through the rafters via a Bose surround sound system. I believe Feng Shui and Aroma Therapy Specialists are on staff. Hardware Dan's: Typically the store looks as if a fraternity kegger was held the night before and the cleaning crew who was in attendance is still passed out in the Paint Department come opening time. The sound system (a boom box duct taped to a bull horn) is blaring Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell". This might actually fall on the plus side for Hardware Dan's - Billy Idol Rules! Sorry Anita. Larry's: The Staff is embarrassingly attentive. They treat you like you are one of the Beatles. If you furrow your brow, look the least bit in need, or simply pause for a moment, an employee eagerly rushes to your aid. As a teen I once stumbled into a restricted area at an Army base. Soldiers, military police with walkie talkies, and a Full Bird Colonel in a chauffeured jeep all converged on me in a Blitzkrieg-like pincer movement. I have on occasion experienced the same level of attention while shopping at Larry's. Hardware Dan's: I believe I know where the staff may be hiding on any given day; Sadam's vacated spider hole. On rare occasion you might actually get a glimpse of an employee, but it's very much like wolf spotting in Yellowstone. It's from a great distance, usually visible only with binoculars. If the wind changes and they pick up your scent, they are gone in a flash. If you so mush as rustle a leaf their ears perk up and, that's right ! Gone in a flash. I've never actually spoken with an employee other than a cashier. Larry's: The check out line is either vacant with a friendly attendant waiting or maybe on a busy weekend a couple of people are in queue. In the rare event a small line forms, an attendant is rushed to the area, where upon they immediately begin distribution of assorted finger sandwiches, desserts and Perrier water. Hardware Dan's: The check out line is slightly longer than the line for the original opening of Star Wars. While waiting in line it is not unusual to see people pitching tents, children being born, college commencement exercises, or a reading of Atlas Shrugs. Larry's: Uniforms are just that, uniform. All attendants are neatly dressed in attractive blue and white outfits. Pants pressed, white shirts sparkling clean, and shoes shined. Younger attendants look like fresh bible-belt college kids, the more senior attendants look like distinguished bankers or possibly an elite private school principal. Hardware Dan's: Uniform is an apron, a well worn dirty apron at that. Underneath the apron might be a pair of raggedy jeans, Daisy Dukes, an Ozzie Osborne for president T-shirt, or quite possibly nothing at all. Larry's: Aisles, placement of stock, and general store layout is well thought out. Everything is designed to provide ample space for customers to move about effortlessly and find merchandise with ease. Floors are clean and free of refuse. Hardware Dan's: An unruly kindergarten class was responsible for the layout of the store. Placement of stock is precarious at best. A sense of danger and frustration is palpable. The Aisles normally resemble "Fibber McGee and Molly's" closet. Displays are not designed, rather merchandise is simply heaped up in awkward piles. Chaos is the order of the day. Larry's: I apologize that our store is currently out of that particular merchandise item, the store manager has been notified, and our Inventory specialist is being caned as we speak. The item has been special ordered and will be air mailed overnight. A special envoy will be dispatched to your home the moment your order arrives. Charges have been waived in compensation for your inconvenience. Again we apologize and beg your forgiveness. Here is my personal business card should you need any further assistance. Hardware Dan's: We might carry that, but finding it would be nothing short of a miracle, I can't help you anyway I'm due to take my break. By the way, how did you manage to sneak up on me, I have the instincts of a wolf when it comes to avoiding humans? You might want to try Larry's. Thank You Steve Sperry Mighty Sight Studio http://mightysight.com

Rain Forest Café If ever a name belied the contents within, it was this unassuming but oppressively restrictive eatery. As I sauntered into the Rain Forest Cafe I anticipated a nice steamed wild rice with grilled tofu and vegetables plate, or a delicately prepared avocado salad with pine nuts and sun dried tomatoes, possibly even a nice Vegan carrot cake for dessert. I couldn't have been more wrong. I was handed a single page menu with the word biscuit in 80+ font boldly stamped across the front. I instinctively flipped over the barren menu to find nothing more than a picture of a biscuit. My next move entailed engaging the sole waitress, an elderly lady who went by the name of Georgette according to the embroidered name stitched across her clean restaurant issue shirt pocket. "Mam, I'm sorry but you seem to have handed me not so much a menu but rather a children's spelling lesson flip card". Granted the french derived word biscuit does offer a challenge, but I'm hungry for food not spelling prowess. Georgette replied in true automaton fashion, " Sir, we serve biscuits, nothin else, they are freshly made by the owner and cook, Mrs. Violaket Meter, I assure you there are no better biscuits anywhere in the parish, would you like to order a biscuit?" I'm not much of a biscuit eater, owing to my general tree-hugging, macro-biotic, Earth Day, save the Whales, South American Spotted Tree Newt, and Albino Ring Tail Lemur, propensities. But again I was hungry and willing to make an exception, I sucked it up and reluctantly ordered a biscuit, naively accompanying my request with the innocent enough question "what can I get to put on my biscuit ?" Georgette replied this time in not so much her automaton fashion, but more puzzled; " I guess you could put another biscuit on your biscuit". I politely but readily explained that I was referring to butter or some sort of preserve. Looking at me like I was from Pluto or an adjacent Parish, she replied, " Sir, we just have biscuits, no butter, jelly, gravy, salt, pepper, mayo, pickle relish, nothin, just biscuits. Georgette was never the least bit curt or condescending with her replies, it was as if she was explaining to Rip Van Winkle after his 100 year nap that things were different. You now live in a world of Biscuit Eateries, get used to it. My biscuit arrived on a full sized hospital tan melamine plate of which it occupied most of the available space. It was perfectly lovely, steamy hot, flaky, golden brown, not the ersatz golden brown you hear about on fast food commercials, but actual golden brown. I ate the unadorned biscuit and thoroughly enjoyed it. I finished my biscuit meal, paid the bill, and as I was leaving, I turned and uncontrollably asked, " Why don't you name your place, Biscuits?" Interestingly enough Violaket had emerged from the Kitchen. I assume it was Violaket, judging by the flour dusted apron she was sporting. She had heard my question and replied in an all knowing but genteel and motherly way, "Son, Biscuits just wouldn't be very imaginative now would it?" She further queried me, "Have you ever seen a Rain Forest?" "They're fascinating and beautiful aren't they?" "Especially with those little white Lemurs and Newts and all". I left the Rain Forest Café gastronomically and mentally satiated. Thank You Steve Sperry Mighty Sight Studio http://mightysight.com