NEW SHORT STORY!

A new short story I plan to place on Amazon Kindle soon. Around twenty years ago I wrote a short story and submitted it to a magazine. I got a scathing letter back from the editor. Among other things he said it was too long and nothing happened in the first two pages.

On retrospect, I see his point. If he'd published the story there wouldn't have been any room for advertisement much less any other stories. Obviously I had failed to investigate the magazines requirements.

Nevertheless I was challenged and wrote a short short short story. I mean the thing was not three double spaced pages long.

So, I drug it out the other day, read it, and decided to rewrite it. I'm adding a little to it. Maybe...oh...I don't know...five thousand words or so. Yeah...and I'll tell you something.

This time it'll be as long as I damn well please!


Look for it! Coming soon.

OUTHOUSE WITH BIDET, NO CATALOG NECESSARY.

This is a whole new concept in bidets. You know...those pluming contraptions that leave you squeaky clean. Haven't had the pleasure myself, but, in the late fifties, my father experienced one with...shall we say, a twist.

At that time, at least in Oklahoma, outhouses were common place. My Aunt had one and my grandparents had a double seater. I always wondered about that. I mean, who would want...well, never mind. The following is a true story and although I was too young to remember it first hand, I was told the story and actually saw the home movies featuring the aftermath.

You know, my father always said, "if you don't go when you gotta go, when you finally do go, you'll find out you've already went." I can picture him stepping out on my Aunt's back porch. A board was nailed on a post, level enough for a box of matches to sit, underneath an old lantern. He got a match, struck it and lit the lantern and headed toward the venerable old outhouse to do his business. He opened the door to the facility carefully, scanned the interior for creepy crawlers. That part of Oklahoma was home to tarantulas as big as a man's hand and red and black centipedes as long as his forearm.

Satisfied, he entered, dropped trou, twisted the little board latch (Remember them, a little board with a nail driven in the center. You could turn it up to unlatch, perpendicular to latch. Sometimes they actually worked) and sat down.

I can't imagine what he felt as he experienced what most people would count as a life changing experience, but my Aunt said he busted out of the little privy without bothering to turn the latch. He made quite a commotion when he ran into kitchen and told my Aunt. "Mae, you've got an automatic butt wiper out there!

Well, you can imagine the whole troop, armed with additional lanterns, went to see this marvel of modern plumbing.

In the hole...you know, the business part of an outhouse, hanging on for dear life, was, what looked to me after seeing the home movies, to be a large St. Bernard dog. When my dad sat down, well, it did what dogs do...lick.

Another thing indigenous to rural America at that time was conference calling. Of course, it wasn't like you had a choice, or pushed a button. It was called a party line. Thirty minutes after Aunt Mae's call to the sheriff, that was just what was going on. A party. It was hard to believe that many people lived in the area, but quite a crowd gathered to see this large hapless mutt saved from a crappy end. Pun absolutely intended.

No one wanted to do it, the local VFD won the job and got the poor pooch out. The home movies detailed the mess the animal had been in.

So, maybe it's not only important to look before you leap, but just as wise to survey before you sit.