When I was in college, I worked as a tutor as well as provided a certain amount of tech support (how do I save my paper to my 3.25″ floppy?) in the on-campus computer lab. This was some time ago (thinking of how long makes me a bit depressed so I’m not going there) but the two people I remember the most are Norma, the clipboard-wielding lab supervisor/dictator, and Ed. Ed was a fellow lab employee and a great source of entertainment and was just the comic relief I needed to counteract Norma’s depressive personality and domineering attitude. Ed was in his mid-to-late 40’s, single, lived alone, and only had a couple goldfish for company. I can’t remember his last name but that’s hardly necessary.
So, I began writing this long, narrative document, pouring onto its computerized pages my thoughts on the world, the annoying students in the lab, how Norma was a walking suicide on a stick…and, of course, Ed’s stories about his friends and fish and backhoes. It became somewhat of a pre-blogging era blog. 57 pages of it. The best parts in my opinion were those that included Ed. So I’ve decided to share.
I give you: Ed.
(This is lengthy. Most of you will probably not read it in its entirety. Those who do will be rewarded with a rubber tree plant.)
Please keep in mind that as I was writing this I myself was not engaging in one non-sequitur after another, this was just how Ed’s mind worked…that’s just how Ed rolled.
Ed is now over here telling me where to go when I’m in Vegas. Can’t he see I’m busy? I’m surprised he isn’t carrying on about Great Bob of Cibolo Creek. He does this on occasion. There is a story, you know. About Great Bob. And of Cibolo Creek. Now, Great Bob here, Great Bob’s son had a tragic motorcycle accident. Some old woman hit him with a car, crushing the bones in his ankle and shin. (He tells it as if it’s some form of folklore yet this happened only last night).
You see, Ed doesn’t want a pickle. He just wants to ride his motorcycle. Ed is a motorcycle cruising kind of guy. Great Bob owns Cibolo Creek. It belongs to him. And Great Bob is a rock artist. He has two houses, and lots of rocks. One house for rocks, one house for Bob. He uses his backhoe to move his rocks about. Great Bob will even rent his backhoe to you for $125/hour. But Ed is special; he can use it whenever he wishes, which is surprising because Great Bob is such a tightwad.
Ah…Mr. Ed is going on again. He wants to buy a submarine. He’s going to learn how to operate one on the internet. Meanwhile, his cats are looking for the Ghost of Woman Hollering Creek. These cats are specially trained to seek this woman out. The creek itself does not holler.
Ed has some more stories. He and his buddy, Carl, of Bile Bay. Now, Carl of Bile Bay is in Guam, between Umatac and Agat Bay. It was a fish. A Napoleon Hump Head Wrasse. Quite a fish indeed. Mr. Ed of Woman Hollering Creek and Carl of Bile Bay were spear fishing. That’s fishing for fish, not fishing for spears. Mr. Ed is quite fond of fishing and during his tour in Nam he had the opportunity to seek out some unusual fish indeed. I myself have never been fishing but this does not diminish from the quality of my life. I have fish in a tank at home, but I do not fish for the fish in it because then I would no longer have fish in my tank, and then just what would I do with all of the frozen brine shrimp in my freezer? Anyway, the Napoleon Hump Head Wrasse is the fish that took Mr. Ed and Carl of Bile bay for a ride. What happened is this: Mr. Ed and Carl of Bile Bay were spearfishin and Ed sees this huge fish…. with teeth! Yes, a fish with teeth. And his name was not Bingo, nor Nix Nein. He was served in the mess hall stuffed with shrimp and covered in coconut milk. The battle to catch the fish was worse than the battle of Iwo Jima.
You make me feel like dancing. Ooh. Ooh wah. Wah wah ooh. Mr. Ed seems to like singing that song quite a bit. I should just write a whole damn book about Mr. Ed. But then I would have to share the royalties with him, with which he would use to buy more cigarettes. Mr. Ed has an affinity for cigarettes and beer. In large quantities.
Okay, about Leo Sayer. Ed says Leo Sayer is out. The Beatles are in. We’re going worldwide with this thing. What’s wrong with Leo Sayer is this: he is an American thing. If you went to Bombay India and gathered together a large group of people and said, “What do you think of the great singing talents of Leo Sayer?” More than likely they would respond with “Leo who? Leo the Lion?” You make me feel like Danicn’…Ooh, ooh wah, wah ooh. I could write an ode to Leo Sayer:
Ode to Leo Sayer
Oh, Leo Sayer,
I do feel sad for you…
If I mentioned you to the Citizens of Bombay
They’d blankly respond, “Leo who?”
Oh, Leo Sayer
Your career is sadly done
The Beatles have ended your fame
With their White Album.
Oh, Leo Sayer
You still do have some fans.
Like Mr. Ed of Woman Hollerin’ Creek
Who when sings, sounds quite bland.
Oh, Leo Sayer
We do not miss you, dear.
For your short time is sadly done…
The Beatle’s time is here!
So Ed says now it’s time for the Beatles, because the Beatles are pretty much known worldwide. If you went to Bombay I’m sure at least one or two people would know who the Beatles were. How bout that? The Beatles are in the spell checker on this computer. Weird.
We must pay our respects to Mr. Ed. Mr. Ed no longer exists. We now have Lari Croft. Lara Croft’s brother. For those who are unfamiliar with Lara Croft she is the star of a series of computer games under the title “Tomb Raider”. Okay, okay – I stand corrected. Mr. Ed is not gone – he has merely assumed a new identity as Lari Croft. Lari and Lara are brother and sister. I would indulge more into their upbringing and childhood however it is highly classified information. Okay, what is an OBE? Ah…Out of Body Experience. Do tell us, Lari, of your OBE’s. Last night, he was summoned by Lara to assist her. It appears that she had become the subject of an attack from banshee monkeys from hell. In lower Zimbabwe. That is not to say that Zimbabwe was hell…the monkeys were only from hell…to continue: Lara had opened a door to a secret crypt (of course) and when she did she was attacked by the BMH’s. (Banshee Monkeys from Hell). So now you must be asking yourself: how did Lari make it down to Zimbabwe, rescue Lara from the BMH’s, then was able to return on time in order to resume his duties as Team Member in the Business Building Computer Lab at UTSA? Back to the OBE thing: lucid dreaming is when you get the proper amount of REM sleep and then participate in lucid dreaming: i.e. your dreams. In OBE’s the spiritual part of your body separates from the physical body and you are attached by an umbilical cord called the astral link. (I must interject: I have NO idea what the hell Ed (a.k.a. Lari) is talking about…). OBE’s are more commonly known as “Astral Projections”. With astral projection you are able to leave your body and fly around the room like Superman. You can go to your neighbor’s house and watch the ole lady take a shower. It’s a new breed of peeping toms. So anyway, Ed – oops – Lari was able to leave his body and fly to Zimbabwe but not without first stopping to have a burger and beer at a roadside tavern. So Mr. Lari Ed flies across vast oceans and distant lands and at long last arrives just in time to save his beloved sister, Lara, from the Banshee Monkeys From Hell. He grabs each one and entraps them in a Mr. Ed Lari Napoleon Hump Head Wrasse headlock and gives them the worst noogie in all of creation, rubbing a long, bald line down the center of their heads. Lara is released, being sure to strike a pose that would make Rolling Stone proud, hops in her Hummer and zooms off into the sunset, leaving poor Mr. Lari Ed to contend with the remaining BMH’s. Personally I would have been rather pissed that the little hussy took off and left me since she’s supposed to be the great hero in this scenario. But alas this is reality in which Mr. Lari Ed must go through the BMH’s one by one leaving a hairless stripe atop their enormous noggins. Mr. Lari Ed then took off into the sky, soaring over hill and dale, returning to his body just as the alarm clock rang. And that is the story of Mr. Lari Ed and the Banshee Monkeys from Hell.
And apparently Mr. Ed had another story that he was holding out on me. About the Weed. The Weed is not a thing, he is a person. A cranky ole bastard for whom Mr. Ed worked when he was still in the military as a loader-planer. Now, whenever someone was looking for something, say, a stapler, when Weed was asked if he had seen it his reply would always be, “If it was up yer ass you’d know where it was!”. The stapler could be sitting right in front of his nose, and he would still reply, “If it was up yer ass you’d know where it was!”. After a time Mr. Ed and his ornery little shit co-workers caught on that Weed would never in his lifetime actually tell them where anything was. It was a hopeless cause. So they decided that instead of getting pissed at his behavior they would use it for their own amusement.
“Hey, Weed…ya seen the keys to the forklift?”
“If it was up yer ass you’d know where it was!”.
“Hey, Weed…ya seen my diaphragm?”
“If it was up yer ass you’d know where it was!”
“Hey, Weed, know where that plate of clams on the half shell are?”
“If it was up yer ass you’d know where it was!”
This one is important:
“Wiggy” is my new word. Spread it around. Use it in every sentence. “Man, that’s wiggy”. Ed likes to combine it with his magnificent French skills: “Voulez voulez voulez-vous wiggy”. Ed asked me to stick my fingers in a Moulinex food processor. I’ve never heard of Moulinex.
Voulez voulez voulez-vous Moulinex.
Apparently it is a French appliance company. They use them to make crêpes and escargot. Sticking escargot n a Moulinex has to be pretty disgusting. Drinking an escargot milkshake is pretty disgusting. I suppose there are a great many things that would be quite revolting to stick in a food processor.
Voulez voulez voulez-vous escargot.
And there is the story of Voulez Voulez vous. For those who wondered why I ended every blog entry in this fashion.
Ed is going to rat on me. I neglected to clean the wayward staples off of the table. Says he’s going to send me to jail. Normally he merely threatens to call president Romo. President Romo is the president of the university. So I ask him: “why don’t you just call president Romo?”
“I can’t. He’s in jail”.
“Why is he in jail?”
“Drunken disorderly conduct”
“Yeah, he smashed up my rubber plant.”
“Your rubber plant…”
“Yeah, he was at my house, he got drunk, and he went and grabbed my ball peen hammer, and smashed the pot to bits! There was mulch, and dirt, and mud all over everywhere.”
“So now he’s in jail…?
“Yep. He ain’t gonna be smashin no more rubber plants.”
Voulez voulez voulez-vous rubber plant.
Mr. Ed has no more stories for us. No more shenanigans. Only serious business here. Nix Nein Frankenstein.
No more fictitious stories, he says. Not even any true ones. This makes me rather upset. I mean, just what am I supposed to write about if I have no Mr. Ed stories? And do you know why? Do you know why Mr. Ed won’t tell us any more stories? It’s because of Norma. The tyrannical bitch-beast from hell. All because of her. She has been terrorizing the staff any time they so much as even crack a smile, so now poor Mr. Ed feels like he must keep his mouth shut about things such as Napoleon Hump-Head wrasses and Creeks and Great Bobs. I would come up with my own however they wouldn’t have the Mr. Ed flair we have come to know and love.
Voulez voulez voulez voulez-vous tyrannical bitch-beast.
Voulez voulez voulez-vous shenanigans.
Congratulations! You made it. Here’s your rubber tree plant.
Voulez voulez vous…voulez voulez vous.