The Little Falls Weekly Saver Part Two & Three

Part Two

Back at Jeff’s office, he poured himself a glass of Fernet, a hard spirit to get a hold of these days. He of course offered me a glass but as it was only ten seventeen in the morning, I declined. I also feel that it simply tastes like medicine, I know there are a lot of fans out there, it’s simply my opinion. 

“I have a few standard questions for you and then I will be on my way.” I said pushing the red button on my tape recorder, as Jeff nodded and sat down in his large leather office chair. “Question one, what do you do?” Jeff chuckled and took another sip of Fernet. 

“ I am a detective.” Jeff said plainly without any follow up. 

“Right, of course, but what does a typical day look like for Jeff Fielding?” I asked hesitantly. 

“Oh, well, I get up around eight, I live down the hall in home furnishings, I usually make myself a cup of coffee, Kara comes over, she has a cup of coffee, we fuck, for I don’t know twelve minutes, sixteen on a good day.” Jeff continued to talk about sex and coffee for a bit longer but since this is about his business lets skip to that. “Then usually one of the Flexar fellas comes by, drops a case on my desk and I solve it.” Now I would have been upset had that exact thing not happened mere moments after he finished. 

The Flexar look similar to us, aside from the wings, and the exquisite bone structure, great hair, and what I can only assume is an unbelievably low BMI. It would be quite easy to believe that at one point in time the Flexar came here and were believed to be angels, I know that because that was our original belief. Then we remembered science was a thing, and they killed half the population, with very advanced weapons. But they’re good looking is what I’m getting at, so when Altar came in during my interview with Jeff I was a bit thrown off. 

“Jeff, Rai needs your help, one of his girls went missing.” Altar said. “Is that all I get?” Jeff asked, looking up at the chiseled jaw of the seven foot creature. “Her name is Massara, here’s her picture, and theres a bit of info we got from her boyfriend who is also now MIA. Pick her up and bring her back.” Altar dropped the folder on the desk in front of Jeff, and turned to leave. 

“Hey Altar, I hate to be a dick about this, but I am still waiting on payment from the last six cases. And before you say it, I sent invoices to Mary Ann. Twice.” Jeff said firmly. Altar turned and looked Jeff dead in the eyes, like a statue, not a blink. Then with a snap of his fingers the big guy smiles and tosses a wad of cash at Jeff. “Calm down man, I’m just messing with you, that’s what you people say right? I’m messing with you? Will Ferrel, right? The Hangover. Ah. Mary Ann is a real pain in my ass, couldn't leave without it today.”

“Thanks.” Jeff mumbled as he counted the roll of twenties. “But seriously find the girl, or yah know, we’ll kill yah.” Altar said as he ducked under the door frame. 

Jeff unlocked a drawer in his desk and put the money inside, then turned to me and asked, “You wanna help me find a prostitute?” So my loyal readers know, this journalist doesn’t always get the meatiest stories, so when one lands in your lap, you can’t turn it down. “I mean how long does something like this, sorry, sure, lets go find a prostitute. A missing one, not just a regular one.” Jeff locked the drawer and smiled at me. “Right” he said opening the file. 

Jeff went to work picking through the documents in the folder, a few pictures, a receipt from a grocery store, a copy of her schedule. One thing the Flexar mafia does well is time management, their superior ability to plan and utilize their people to max efficiency is what some believe won them the war. Or the massive dragon like creatures that just ate everything and everyone in site. It’s a toss up. “All right you ready?” Jeff asked as he threw on his jacket. 

“Always ready for prostitutes.” I just can’t stop myself sometimes. We left his office and the Big Billy’s and headed for his truck. 

Part Three

Many years ago, when I was sixteen my older sister used to have a Honda Accord in which she would smoke her Reds with the windows up. It created a thick yellow film that made it nearly impossible to see through. Jeff’s truck was worse. So much worse. Combine that with the Yankee Candle S’mores air freshener and you have yourself quite a ride. Certainly explained why we hit this guy. Fortunately for us he was just the man we were looking for. Literally. It was Massara’s boyfriend, Glenn. 

Glenn was unfazed by the blow, picked himself up and kept walking. Jeff on the other hand pulled over and hopped out of the truck. “Hey pal, you all right?” He asked as he approached Glenn. “What were you doing in the middle of the road?” Nothing. “OK well I have some bad news for you, you got hit by a car.” Jeff looked back at me as I held up the picture of Glenn from the file. 

“We know who you are! And we are not going to let you get away with this!” Glenn yelled in no particular direction. 

Jeff looked back at me confused as he mouthed the word “We”.

“Yeah! We know what you are after and as you can see, there’s far to many of us to take on by yourselves! So why don’t you and your little friend just get back in yourtruck and turn around!” And with that Glenn began walking into the forest. Of course his leg was broken so he only made it a few feet before Jeff scooped him up. 

“Listen guys I’m going to have to take your friend here for just a little while and then I promise I will get him right back to you.” Jeff said throwing Glenn over his shoulder. “ I’ll take excellent care of him though, get his leg patched up and you guys can get back to whatever it is that was happening here.”

“Like you could ever understand the ancient ritual of Terry the Righteous, bringer of light, organizer of living rooms, cleaner of cat boxes.” Glenn made an elaborate series of hand gestures and then fell asleep. 

Jeff tossed him into the flatbed and got back in the truck. “That was easy.” He said as he picked up an old phish t shirt and began wiping the windshield.

“So what do we do now? Take him back to the Flexar?” I asked with childlike enthusiasm.

Jeff finished with the windshield, in truth it wasn’t much cleaner, and in parts it looked worse, but the small circle he had made for himself was clearer. He tossed the shirt in the backseat and started up the truck. “Tell me you aren’t even the least bit interested in old Terry the Righteous?” He said slipping the truck into drive. “Cleaner of cat boxes? Huh?” I was of course by profession intrigued. “That’s what I thought, so where does he live?” he asked me.

I flipped over the picture of him and it had an address on it. “Says he stays at a camp a few minutes from here, off route 39.”

“That’s the fucking burners camp.” I was clearly out of my depth on this one and Jeff could tell, “Remember burning man? That big mess of hippies jerking off in the desert. Who would have thought they would be the winners of the apocalypse? Anyway, these guys have little camps everywhere, continue to be a pain in everyone’s ass, Flexar included.” Jeff trailed off as we pulled up to big wooden sculpture of a man, must have been two stories tall. But before we could really get a good look, a storm of rocks came hurling at the truck, smashing the glass and waking Glenn. Screams from all around us and the eventual destruction of his windshield were enough to finally push Jeff a little over the edge. I say a little because even at what I assume is furious he’s still quite soft spoken and polite.

Out of the truck he hopped, firing a shotgun in the air and then pointing it at Glenn. “Hey! Please Stop!” The crowd went silent. “Thank you.” Glenn let out a final scream and was met with the but of the shotgun. “Jesus fucking christ. Who’s in charge here?” Jeff grumbled. 

“I am!” A woman no older then seventeen yelled stepping out from behind the sculpture, crossbow in hand. With a flaming arrow loaded she smiled, “How can I help you?”.

The Little Falls Weekly Saver Part One

On a nearly forgotten street, on the edge of Little Falls, there is a strip mall. If I had to guess, and I’m no master of the unknown, but if I had to guess, I’d say about sixteen people stop by the various stores in the this strip mall on a daily basis. There are four stores left out of the original twelve. There used to be a Big Billy’s Building Supplies in the middle but once that went, business really started to go down hill. It really was a shame what happened to Big Billy, first his beloved spillex Jefferson died, then his partner of nine years left him, and then the mites took his legs. Just wasn’t the same after that. Really makes yah think about your own life. 

After the Big Billy’s closed down, the other stores started dropping like flies. As of my writing this there’s only Exotic Escapes, the travel agency, which is a front for the Flexar mafia. Which, although a very bad influence on the town’s youth, they are the main source of revenue keeping this part of Little Falls afloat. They maintain the roads, keep the street lamps on at night, and allow the remaining businesses to continue operating. 

For some of my bunker buddies; after the earth’s acquisition by the Flexar Empire, most of their highest ranking officials chose not to stay and enjoy all of the bounties our planet has to offer. They took many of our valuable resources, and left. But most of their lower ranking citizens who had been part of the earlier stages of the invasion chose to stay. Some had obviously fell in love, we all know how that goes. Some had acquired a taste for the food or drink, particularly Jamaican rum. Not sure what it is about the rum, seems like beings with a refined pallet may have chosen a spirit with more nuance, more variety, like say whiskey. But they went with rum. While a few had worked incredibly hard to set up a complex crime network in towns across America, and were not about to give that up. 

There’s a fish tank store, odd, what with the shortage of water and all. And of course, a Quiznos. Of all the fast food chains for the Flexar people to have picked they had to choose Quiznos. Like no one really liked Quiznos when we weren’t under the control of an eccentric dictator from the Le-nar System. But now it’s one of the only things we can eat. I believe there was even talk of the company closing down many of it’s locations due to a drop in sales. This journalist, as you know was a much larger fan of Arby’s, the awful yet delicious meat sandwiches, the horsey sauce, seems unfair.

Calling Jeff’s office the fourth business in the strip mall seems like a stretch, as I told you, Big Billy’s is closed, but Jeff still operates out of an office in the back. You have to pull into the loading dock, and go through a warehouse, littered with old power tools and paint thiner to get to it, but I guess technically it’s operational. That is how Jeff Fielding prefers it, he is a detective. A private eye of the truest breed, like his father before him. Jeff Fielding is also half Flexar not so much like his father before him, his father was all human, like I said, we all know how that goes. 

It was a gloomy Wednesday morning they day I chose to stop by Jeff’s office, I had called over twenty times, but no one answered the phone, so I decided to stop down and see if he took walk ins. As I passed through the parking lot a series of surly looking individuals kept a strict eye on me from their spot outside the Exotic Escapes. I drove around the back of the Big Billy’s made my way to Jeff’s office, but it was empty. I took a seat and waited. 

I believe I had nodded off on my own, I don’t entirely remember, but when I woke up I was in the fish tank store, I was tied to a chair, and a short woman with flowing red hair had a gun on me. Her skin was freckled, and had the sun not been so overwhelming since the Flexar atmosphere harvest, her skin would have been white as porcelain. But as it was, she was quite tan, clearly spending time outside. Her name as I would later find out was Kara. “Who. Are. You?” She asked bluntly. “I am Greenland, Arthur Greenland. I was trying to find Jeff, he was chosen as our Little Falls small business owner of the month.” A small smile came across her face as I said this, before it gave way to the biggest laugh I have ever heard come from a person that small. 

“Jeff! You’re not gonna believe this, he’s from the coupon book!” She yelled. Now I know that I may not work for the New York Times or the Washington Post, but we are a lot more than a coupon book. I truly hope you, my loyal readers, know how much I respect you and your loyalty. Also I am required to say that you can get twenty five percent off of Roast Beef foot longs at Quiznos this weekend. 

“Wait! I’m the small business owner of the month?” Jeff asked walking from the stock room carrying two large fish tanks. Jeff is a man you would easily forget, no distinguishing marks of any kind, with dreadlocks tied up in a bun, in his late thirties who I would assure you got carded for the cigarette he had hanging from his mouth. He was in a suit that before lugging these fish tanks around most likely looked pretty good. And he of course has a large set of wings jutting from his back. Jeff’s mother as I mentioned is Flexar.

He set up a hose and started filling the tanks before coming over to me and cutting the ropes that were tying my hands. “Arthur Greenland, I guess in a town like Little Falls it was only a matter of time before my business popped up on your list.” He said before he was cut off by Kara, “How are you here for him and not me? I run an actual business. People buy things from me, I pay rent, I own a billboard.” Jeff smiled as he listened to the argument. 

“She’s right Arty, she does own a billboard.” I was not sure how to respond at this point so I said as little as possible. “The owners are chosen at random.” They are of course not, I just hate that billboard. The mascot for a fish tank store is a raccoon named Nathan. What is that? Nothing about that makes sense. It’s like she bought the billboard from another store and changed the name. When are raccoons ever good mascots. No offense to raccoons, but really? I digress. 

“Mr. Fielding, I just need a small amount of your time, ask you a few questions, and I will be on my way. Or you can simply say no, and I will more than likely just interview your friend here.” I said taking my tape recorder from my bag.

Jeff turned the water off before the tanks got too full and patted me on the shoulder. “Lets do this.” Kara, arms crossed and clearly curious watched us leave.

Pickles

Paul and Brittle Ben also do have a line of locally grown organic products, their company is called P&BB Sundries. All proceeds go to charity. We recently polished off a jar of their pickles but check out the fun story from the label. - JR

Get ready for Great Grandpa Klieb’s Spears of Genius!

Why are they called that you might ask. Well Ben and I certainly didn’t come up with it, and Great Grandpa Klieb certainly didn’t, so who gave these incredible pickles their legendary name? Believe it or not, it was one of the finest minds of all time, Nikola Tesla.

You see, many years ago, our Great Grandpa, Horrace Klieb lived in New York City. It was the late 1800’s quite a difference from the bustling metropolis we all know today. But while in Manhattan he worked at the Edison Machine Works, had come over from France where he met his lifelong best friend Nikola Tesla at the Continental Edison Company. They had bonded over their love of pigeons, even into their late ages they could be seen sitting with their beloved birds. 

But what about the pickles?

 As some of you may know, Tesla could not make it through a day without a meal from Delmonico’s, every night at 8:10 he would call the head server and tell him his order, then proceed directly to the restaurant, only allowing the head server to tend to him, and generally preferring to eat alone. Now being quite a particular man, he would accept no less from his meals, the steaks were the best in the city but Tesla always thought they were missing something. Then, one day, while Horrace and Tesla were toiling, our Great Grandpa cracked open one of the many jars he would carry with him. Grandpa was a bit particular as well, would only eat food he had prepared, and each ingredient was to be kept in a separate jar. In fact this is the very reason the two were never seen at Delmonico’s together.  Anyway, Horrace had been crafting the perfect blend of spices for years, till he found a seasoned brine so exquisite that no cucumber ever lost it’s crunch, that each bite was a magnificent explosion of flavor, and as Tesla described them upon first taste, “these are spears of genius”. Now you may have trouble tracking one down, but at the time if you asked any head server at Delmonico’s, as Tesla’s plate was presented to him, he would take a breath, inhale the aromas, and then reach into his bag and take out a jar of our great grandpa’s pickles. No meal was complete without them.

So it is with great pleasure that we present one of Horrace’s crowning achievements, enjoyed by thousands, including one of the world’s greatest minds. 

And who knows, maybe these pickles will spark a little something in you!  

P&BB

- Sundries -

It's the brittle things that keep life interesting

Photo by Christopher Barsch

The Greatest of Times

A New York Times Bestseller

The Greatest of Times

The collected memoirs of Paul Klieb and Brittle Ben Brown

Their names are quite familiar but their story is not. The Greatest of Times collects the tales of two cousins paths through life, sometimes together, sometimes apart, always living life to the fullest.

"A+ A literary masterpiece has come from Paul and Bens true life tales. Almost too big to believe!"

- LiteraryLitnay.com

"The Greatest of Times transports you to another time and place, taking you on a roller coaster of emotions, and leaving you begging for more."

- Brooklyn Book Review

"I am a man of facts, a skeptic you could say, and believe me I tried to disprove these two men's stories. I went to bars, hospitals, fishing supply stores, looking for the people and places these men speak of, and to my astonishment, they are all there! It is hard to believe but these men truly have lived a life of wonder. I even met Raul, a creature they refer to as a Glour, who had been kidnapping ear nose and throat doctors, spoke to them too. Raul told me of the time Pick and Brittle he called them, saved his sons sight by fashioning an eye salve out of fruits and insect bellies. This stuff is just too wild! In the search to disprove their tales I ended up creating some of my own, so for that I thank Paul and Ben. This book is a gem!"

- Craig Jeffries, Host of One Note

"Powerful, powerful, powerful"

- Danesh Fowler Karpani, author of The Green Bean Collective

"The expanses of the human heart have never been so clearly captivated than in, The Greatest of Times. I had the pleasure of working with Ben and Paul during the Bulgarian elections many years ago, a story I'm proud to say made this book, and words can not due these men justice. They went door to door with just a pad and a pencil, never having spoken Bulgarian, within the hour they were being invited into a delivery room to celebrate the birth of the first Bulgarian septuplets. They became the god fathers to seven little girls, and I'm amazed to say have been at each off their college graduations. These men are treasures and so are their stories. Do Not Miss This Book!

-Chip Kentington, host of WWNN Tonight and author of Dark Lands a Journalists Journal.

Enjoy Excerpts From The Greatest of Times

I had been traveling for days without seeing a single soul. The grains of sand swam past my face, with each gentle caress, taking with them another piece of my humanity. I was lost, I had given up, a small Arabian black tailed hawk had began to follow me. Doug, I called him. I would say "Doug, what time is it?" "Doug what day is it?" "Doug what kind of beans make the best chili?" But he only had one answer, silence. He would continually say "silence" it was disheartening, until I got close enough to see a tag on his leg with the name of a popular grade school in Cairo and it made a bit more sense. Children at that age can be quite loud. But I digress. I was almost gone, my last sip of water finished the night before, I was done for. I fell to my knees, I looked to my side and there was Doug. He said "Silence" and I let it wash over me, I was at peace. And then I opened my eyes and a shadow had drenched me, I looked up and there was Paul. He said what has now become a famous line but at the time was just a simple introduction, “It's me, Paul”. Now the odds are too unbelievable, that a man I had never met, in a country foreign to both of us, would be a cousin of mine but it is true. Paul saved my life that day. He handed me a jug and I drank the sweetest drink of my life. I have tasted wines and spirits from around the globe, from dark damp cellars to the finest distilleries, none have tasted as sweet as that sip of water, and I owe that to Paul.

-Brittle Ben Brown

On a fact finding mission for the Peruvian government Ben and I were asked to investigate the death of several people in the Herez Jungle. We had traced every path of the Herez so it seemed like an easy task. The terrain was quite familiar,  but the case though was truly a mystery. We gave up shortly after arriving. I kid, there was no way we could quit, these people were being abducted from their homes without a trace of evidence, aside from mysterious clumps of hair, greyish brown in color, and coated in an oily substance. The local authorities were stunned, no man or beast they knew of produced such a product from its body, but Ben and I knew what it was almost instantaneously.  It was the hair of a Glour, similar to a Yeti, but a bit smaller in size and native to Central and South America. Dangerous fellows if not handled correctly. But easy to find when in a jam, just look for the Heart of Mercy Tree. It's massive and coated in Orange like fruits. Upon finding Raul, the Glour, we knew immediately what was going on. Raul's son was in need of an eye surgery to fix a cornea abrasion, unfortunately all the men he had kidnapped were ear nose and throat doctors. Luckily Ben had picked up a book on eye care while we were in Italy, it was in Italian so I've never quite known how he understood it, but I guess the diagrams helped. Ben created a salve out of fruits and insect bellies, stopped the infection and fashioned a patch out of fresh leathers. Raul was quite pleased with us, letting the doctors go and giving us a rare stone worth a babies fortune. We still have it to this day, the money could never be worth the pure joy it brings us, much like most of the exotic artefacts we collect, it is important to cherish the memories.

-Paul Klieb

Photo by Christopher Barsch

As huge fans of Paul and Ben we obviously framed the press release for their bestselling book. 

Who is Paul?

This is Paul. He has a catch phrase, "It's Me, Paul" His full name is Paul Klieb. He has a long lost cousin named Brittle Ben Brown. Together they are motivational speakers and globe traveling adventurers. I feel like that explains it all. 

The Late Great Randal Piner

Randal was a proud and noble decorative pine reindeer, we honor his memory in my household  with the impressive silver plaque seen below. Enjoy these memories from friends and loved ones.  - JR

Excerpts from the Eulogy of Randal Emmit Piner

“My brother Randal was what you would call a pioneer, a viking even, in fact we called his old eighty one LeBaron the Knarr, the Norse word for ship. Also cause it was pretty gnarly, I mean he must have drove that thing to every Stevie Ray Vaughan show, from the day he got it to the day old Stevie died. But he was a hell of a man. I’m talking about Randal but Stevie was good too. We grew up in a little town called Burleson, Texas, right outside of Dallas. Didn’t have the perfect family home, but my big brother Randal always looked out for me and our two sisters. Practically raised us after Dad took off. Him and our mother, god rest her soul, did their best, and today we thank them for it. But Randal was a born leader, was never gonna be a stay at home dad. So after we were grown, he headed out. Worked his way up north, always was good with his hands, building anything from houses to armchairs. But it was the armchairs that ended up being his trade. Was never sure why people enjoyed his furniture so much. Maybe it was the end of the eighties, and people were sick of all that excessive nonsense. But hell before any of us knew it he was up in Maine building and furnishing cabins for the rich and famous. And when he met Dave, set him up with the Esquire crew, he was golden. Randal was great builder, a great brother, and a truly good man. His untimely death was a shock and a loss for not only those he knew but those he didn’t. The old gentle giant said this to me on my wedding day. “ A life is only worth living when you can share it with people.” I’m gonna miss yah brother. I’m gonna miss yah.”

“I called him Emmit, everyone else called him Randal but I called him Emmit. He thought that every wife should have a name for her husband, a name only she calls him. So that when he hears it, he’s prepared. We met in Colorado, got married in Virginia, and settled down no where. We always said that if we had had a child, he would have been army brat, we moved around so much. But truth is we just loved traveling, as long as we were together, didn’t matter where we were. And damn did we see it all. Used to get calls form people all over the word who wanted him to come and build for them. We had a map, and if that town was crossed out we said no. Expect Dallas, he’d always take a job in Dallas. “That’s Stevie’s home” He’d say. Must have listened to Texas Flood more times than I can remember. But no matter where we were, he’d make us a home, he’d build us a bed, and we worked together on almost every job, cause if you weren’t working than what were yah doing? I would tear him off a piece of furniture, kickin and screamin, and we would lay down in that bed, and we were home. I love you Emmit, I always will, and I promise I’ll never stop working.

“ My name is David Granger, I wanted to  say a few words about a friend of mine, Randal. You would think that having worked in the magazine and newspaper industry as long as I have, it would be easy to come up with something to say but it wasn’t. Randal was the most complicated simple man I’ve ever known. I met him up in New Hampshire, he was designing a family friends home, and I was invited to see it. Little did I know, what would transpire was a meeting that I would remember for the rest of my life. I got to the house and it was just him, no crew of workers, no designers just him, and a bottle of Bourbon of course. Always said the only energy drink he needed was a little Bullet Bourbon. He said hello, and if you’re here then yah might as well work. When I tell you we worked till the sun came up it is no understatement. We finished that bottle, and when it was done he put on a pot of coffee. We talked for hours about Texas, New York, and everything in between. And as I picked up my coat to leave in the morning he said my name is Randal, what’s yours? I knew right then and there, this man was a genius, and we were friends ever since. It was a pleasure to know him for the time I did.

Photo by Christopher Barsch

The Late Great Phillip Pumpkowski

Phillip was a proud and noble decorative holiday gourd, we honor his memory in my household  with the impressive gold plaque seen below. Enjoy these memories from friends and loved ones.  - JR

Excerpts from the Eulogy of Phillip Andrew Pumpkowski: 

“ Phil was a man of dignity, of grace, and yes even style. Well I remember one time when we were down in SoHo which if you knew Phil, you know he’d never be caught dead down there. In fact I believe the man only wore one color his whole life, and I’m pretty sure you all know what that one is. Which makes the whole black suit seem a little off, but I digress. So we were in SoHo, I needed a gift for my wife at the time, as did he. So we’re wondering around and this had to have been over twenty years ago, SoHo wasn’t what it was now with all the Orientals, if you wanted a nice shawl, it took some effort. So Phil says to me, lets just stop and get a drink and we’ll figure it out later. I’m sayin Phil we got six days till Christmas, to which Phil responds, my wife is the catholic one. So we end up havin a few drinks, Phil being the natural born salesman he was ends up chatting up this tall gangly fella and it turns out he’s opening a store down the street next year. All new fashions, was the klean guy, had those adds I kept my daughter away from. Anyway, Phil ends up getting this guy to show us some of his product, and what do you know, he’s got some beautiful shawls,  which he’s willing to trade for some of our, industrial metal. I’m happier than a clam, and blown away cause what does this guy need with metal. But Phil walks away with a twenty thousand dollar deal and enough shawls to cover every Christmas for years to come. Why tell that story? Well cause that was the kind of guy Phil was, could talk to anyone,  he made friends instantly, and was always thinking on his feet. I’m really gonna miss old PK as we used to call him. I’m lucky to have known him.”

“ I only knew Phil recently, used to serve the old guy almost every night. PK as some people called him, I always preferred Phil, was a damn good man. Towards the endI used to close up the bar and just sit with him till all hours listening to those tales of his. A true New Yorker he was. Always said he was born in Brooklyn and he’d die in Brooklyn. I know there was some troubles he had, some demons he never quite faced, but he did his best, to help everyone around him, to take care of his family even if they weren’t too fond of him, and just to follow a simple code, one day at a time. I could tell some stories, share some laughs, but that’s for later, now I just want to thank Phil for helping me out, for getting me back on my feet again. I wasn’t doing to well for a little while, and Phil stuck his hand out when no one else really would. I think I’d known him for about two months at the time. And I swear he was a true friend, a real man of honor, and never wanted anything in return, that was just Phil. So thanks buddy, the bar and the world is a little less bright without you in it. We’re gonna miss yah.” 

“ I may be the only other Pumpkowski here today, he was an only child and helost his parents early, but that never seemed to slow my Dad down. He had some problems in marriage as many of us do, but he did his best to be a good father. Sometimes,  we just don’t get enough time on this earth and some relationships stay broken. But as the oldest of his children I was fortunate to reconnect with him before it was too late. To learn some truths, hear both sides,  have the dad I always hoped for. As a proud daughter of Phillip Pumpkowski, I just want to say that he always took are of us, always watched out even from quite a distance, and never stopped loving. And if that doesn’t make a father than I’m not sure what does. “

Photo by Christopher Barsch

Day 739

An Excerpt from
Gil Brangdon’s
One if by Land, Three if by Sea

Day: 739
I awoke on this morning as I did most mornings, alone; I looked around the tiny room made of magenta painted steel and reinforced glass that has been my home for some time now. But as my eyes adjusted to the light I knew something was off. Not in a bad way, it’s just when you live in a mobile underwater pod station docked on one of the deepest darkest lagoon beds in the world you begin to develop an understanding and rhythm to your existence. When something throws that off you recognize it. So I went immediately to the control room, I did not brush my teeth, I did not shower, or wash my face, I skipped breakfast, aside from an avocado flavored powdered supply drink. You know what I always say, an avocado flavored powdered supply drink a day keeps the doctor away. Which is good since there are no more doctors on land and almost none in my lagoon, let alone at this depth.

I approached the controls and immediately checked everything, but everything was normal, my air levels were secure, no breaches of any kind. For a moment I took a seat, and a generous breath of air, but then jumped several feet in the air when I heard a most peculiar sound. It was faint, but quite emotive, I turned on the outside lights but nothing was there, I could not see a thing. So I undocked my vessel and began my search, I knew this lagoon like the back of my hand, but that day I was a stranger. I didn’t know where I was going; I was just following the melodic sounds in the distance. The closer I got to the source the louder this music became; I began to hear words in the long since dead language of Italian. It was truly haunting to hear these tragic melodies of which I could not understand, but I continued my search till I seemed to be right on top of the source. It was as if I was in one of the finest music halls in Italy. Of course before the country was overtaken by the sea.

So there I sat listening to this music, scanning the dark treacherous lagoon bed for any signs of life. When all of a sudden I saw her. You would never have noticed her unless your eyes were as primed for discovery as mine. It was, what appeared to be a baby bird. She was no bigger than a mouse, but the sweetest of golden in color. I rushed to the pod station doors, I put on my suit as fast as I could, and I swam out to meet this creature. Her eyes were closed and her song continued till I was inches away. She stopped, looked up at me, and smiled. I said, “ Little creature, will you please join me in my pod station so I may share a word with you?” She nodded and followed me back to the pod bay doors.

Once back inside and dried off, I provided her a seat, and asked if she wanted an avocado flavored powdered supply drink. She declined. Next I asked her what her name was. In the quietest of voices she said “My name is Azar and I am sorry if I disturbed you with my song.” I was flabbergasted, “Of course you did not disturb me, it has been lifetimes since I have heard a voice so beautiful.” She was quite flattered, but after asking me my name and about my ship, I was able to inquire about the song. “It is L’Orfeo, an opera by Claudio Monteverdi, it tells the story of Orfeo, and his fruitless trip down to Hades to bring his dead bride Eurydice back to the land of the living.” Said Azar “ I sing it for my lost lover Aiwa, the most beautiful of angel fish, she is above the surface far from my reach.”

Now as you know I am a fan of the works of the ancient Greek writers, their stories have kept me and my quest going long after the world was consumed by water and flame. And as you should also know my vessel is named Poseidon for the God of the Ocean. So as I sat listening to her sad tale I could not help but be captivated, and inspired to help reunite these two star-crossed lovers. But first I needed a little more information.

“Why is your love so far from reach?” I asked. “When were you last on the surface? Much has changed” Azar said. “Well I have been on my mission for many years, since the great wars above the surface I have been down here. I did not watch the planet consume its inhabitants. Instead I have looked for a solution under the water, only surfacing for short periods of time over the years to collect supplies.” I told her, to which she proceeded to tell me of the years that had passed above, and ultimately of her confinement down here at the bottom of the lagoon.

“Many years have passed since I have seen Aiwa, but I blame myself for our separation. You see Aiwa is the most beautiful of all angelfish, the moment she approached the surface I knew I had fallen in love. I had to have her, so I found one of the only remaining pieces of land, and even harder than that I found one of the fewest reaming trees, one so large and so exquisite, as to honor my love. I built for her a house in that tree, larger than any castle or mansion that stood before the great floods, and I filled it with water. I filled a bucket twelve times as large as myself and brought the ocean to the air, so that I would be closer to her. And in the final bucket I brought Aiwa, and we were happy. I would fly around, and she would swim, and at night we would sleep together in our house in the clouds. I would hold my breath and dive deep into the water and bring up artwork from centuries past, the prettiest jewels, and of course the best of foods. And each time I returned she would tell me what a fool I was, and that all she wanted was to swim below me as I flew above. But the fool I am, I would not listen, I dove deeper and deeper, pulling Picassos from sunken museums, and pearls from the necks of long dead queens. Until one day I dove too deep, in search of the rarest oyster this world has ever seen, I had it in my wing, but when I turned around, my wings would not move, the toxins your race had put into the water had coated them, broken my feathers, and stranded me at the bottom of this lagoon. I have lived off of tiny breaths from the small amount of air within that single oyster. But with each breath I take, I sing Monteverdi’s words, the tragic tale of love lost out of doubt.” With that she took a breath and began to walk towards the door.

Now because I am Gil Brangdon, and as I have told you, a huge fan of all things Greek, I imparted a word of wisdom upon my new friend Azar from the very story she eternally sings, “He who sows in suffering shall reap the fruit of every grace. You sing these very words yet you do not comprehend them.” Azar looked confused. “You must not sit here feeling sorry for yourself, unlike Orfeo, who can never see his bride again, for she is trapped in the underworld, your love is just above the surface.” I told her. “But my wings are broken, how will I take care of my love, she will never again know the beauties this world has to offer. “ Azar responded. “ So you have learned nothing from your entire time trapped down here? You have spent years singing this morality tale yet seem to have taken nothing from it.” Azar looked out the window into the dark waters of the lagoon, and considered my words.

“So you really think that Aiwa will love me, even though I have left her for so long? Even though I am unable to bring her the most precious of jewels? Even though I cannot fly above her?” She asked. “ If Aiwa is the beautiful soul you have described, she will undoubtedly be happy to see you again.” I said. “If this is true than I have been a fool. My new friend, is there any way you might be able to get me to the surface in this vessel?” She begged. I of course obliged, and for the first time in over three years I headed towards the surface, happy to help a friend, and also very excited to see the sun once again. I may even stay above for a little while in order to study the new landscapes. I also felt it important to remind Azar that her lover Aiwa is an independent woman and could of course make any decision she likes, she bound to no one.

The moment we reached the surface we were both blinded by the sunlight we had not seen for quite some time. It was much quieter above than I remembered and an image worthy of a painting. Azar pointed me in the direction of her tree house, and off we went. Within the hour, the massive structure appeared in the distance. Larger than I had expected from Azar’s tales. She had become almost silent as we docked and made our way up the mighty staircase that lead to the entranceway. With a gentle nudge she opened the door and within moments saw Aiwa. Both of their eyes filled with tears as Azar walked towards the large pool in the middle of the house. I must say this house was one of the nicest I have ever seen, how a small bird built it is beyond me, but crazier things have happened.

“I am so sorry I left you my love.” Azar proclaimed, “I was a fool. I could not see that all these material things meant nothing to you. Instead I trapped myself beneath the ocean. But if you will have me back, I will spend the rest of my days by your side.” Aiwa looked at her long lost love, and said, “You know I hate oysters right?” and with a smile invited Azar to come swim beside her.

I proceeded to wander about the tree house letting the two lovers get reacquainted, and marveling at Azar’s fine woodworking skills. Later that night the two let me prepare them my avocado flavored powdered supply drinks, and really seemed to enjoy them. In fact they more than enjoyed them, as Azar finished off her second glass, a funny thing happened, and to this day I’m not sure if it was the clean water in Aiwa’s pool or my avocado drink, I prefer to think it was the drink, but as a cool breeze blew in through the window, Azars feathers began to rustle. Slowly at first one and than another began to straighten out, and before you knew it, she was airborne. That seemed to be my cue to leave, so I walked out the door and down the huge front steps, as Azar flew though the house and dipped down to kiss Aiwa as she jumped from the water.

One Breath Stories #3

Over the years I have given my wife many little handwritten stories, they are usually accompanied by characters, all of them were written in one continuous stream of consciousness. Enjoy. -JR

The One

It does exist, in all my travels throughout the universe, I have seen many things, met many people, but in all this time, I have only found one world that is completely at peace. That isn’t to say I haven’t been to peaceful places. But I mean a planet with no war, no anger, no fighting, it is hard to believe, but I promise, it does exist. It is called Xixxeesurp, that is the closest spelling I can come up with in our language. It is a fantastic place though. Beautiful landscapes, eacho if it’s sixty six moons and suns shine a different color . It is breathtaking, and the beings, well, the beings are toasters. To be clear they are living, breathing, lifeforms with a beautiful language, culture, and history. But they happen to look almost identical to toaster ovens with legs, and hands, and all the other important parts. THey even heated up, their skin could change from silver to red. It was unbelievable, but more fascinating than their appearance was their kindness, generosity, and their heart. Now, they were by no means weak, or defenseless. I was burned almost hourly during my stay, but their wisdom and level headedness had kept them from conflict for their entire existence. Their leader told me many things, boy when I asked him the secret to his people’s outlook all he said was, “We just don’t get overheated”. THis phrase was much more elegant in their language but that's the gist. So now years later whenever I feel myself getting angry I remember these words, and think that if a whole world full of toaster people can live in peace, literally scorching hot all the time, burning one another day in and day out, than any problem in my life just seems a bit more manageable.

Photo by Christopher Barsch

One Breath Stories #2

Over the years I have given my wife many little handwritten stories, they are usually accompanied by characters, all of them were written in one continuous stream of consciousness. Enjoy. -JR

As a praying Mantis, I am always at a bar. Always taking it easy, enjoying life, but sometimes I need to be serious, like the time my beetle fell out of the third floor window. FYI, beetles are like cats to us. We keep them in our homes for joy. Anyway, Beany, my beatle broke to legs, serious day. Everyone is like why are leaning back this isn’t a casual Friday. But alas I could do nothing about it. Aside from go to the bar, get a drink, and lean against it. This also explains the Praying Mantis’ aggressive problems with alcohol. More than 26,000 praying mantis’ struggle and die from alcohol related problems every year. It’s a serious issue. The smile on my face masks serious sadness and pain. But hey Happy Birthday! I hope it’s better than my life with Beany.

Photo by Christopher Barsch

Beany here. First, I want to just address the fact that yes I can talk, I am a pet, us beatles have a really good working relationship with the mantis. That being said, I saw the comments made about the drinking, which I felt was extremely exaggerated. Yes, they have an issue with the spirits, but talk about melodrama. We have a gym membership, we’re fine. And on your birthday, just straight out inappropriate. Happy Birthday by the way. So please, be aware of the problem, but don’t let it worry you that much.

Photo by Christopher Barsch

One Breath Stories #1

Over the years I have given my wife many little handwritten stories, they are usually accompanied by characters, all of them were written in one continuous stream of consciousness. Enjoy. -JR

Hello Nadine. How are you? Would you like to hear about my accident, cause it’s a great story. So I was buying cantaloupes, and you gotta be careful to pick a good one. OF COURSE! And I find the perfect one, a real beauty, I almost just ate it there and then, but I didn’t have a knife (I almost forgot the K) What a mess. But ANYWAY, I’m Buyin the “Lope” and I give the guy a few quarters and he says it’s buy one get one and I said “Oh Boy”. So after I find what some would consider an even better lope, he rings me up, turns out again, second turns out of the story. I feel they make a story sound more like a suprise. But it turns out the cashier knows me. Well duh I used to work there! So I say Teddy, Thank you, and he says “Uh-huh” I never liked him. But the real reason I hurt my hand has nothing to do with Teddy. Dummy. It was cause I get into my car and as my door was open, a very upset woman slammed into it, crushed my hand and both the lopes, Jesus! I said think about that. Two good, no great lopes, gone, and my hand looks silly too!

Photo by Christopher Barsch