Post by Sean Jordan on Oct 25, 2003 0:28:09 GMT -5
So today I got on the telephone, and tried to call Jenny. See, I had heard about her from this guy named Tommy. So I punched in her digits, slowly and deliberately, as I did not want to mistakenly call some fat, xenophobix farmer in Lincoln, Nebraska.
8....6....7.....5...3....0...9.......
*ring*.........*ring*..........*ring*......."Hello?" A man's voice said uncertainly.
"Hi there! May I speak with Jenny please?"
"I'm sorry, with whom am I speaking?"
"My name is Sean. Sean Jordan. Say....is Jenny home?"
"I'm.....sorry, but.....well....it's just that....Jenny passed away this morning."
"Oh goodness....."
I wasn't sure what to do, or what to say. At this point, I was in completely uncharted waters. Actually, I was in uncharted waters from the very beginning. You see, I was calling from my boat, the Creamy Dance Joy. Formerly a Japanese floating House of Ill-Repute, I had purchased it from an old man for a song and a dance. (I had to sing "Stairway to Heaven" whilst dancing the Charleston. That was some hard work, let me tell you!) Anyways, I had undertaken a long and arduous journey that had led me to the deepest parts of the Amazon jungle. While satellites and aerial reconnaisance had mapped these waters long ago, this part of the land had never seen a white man. Or any other European, for that matter. I had boldly gone where no man had gone before. And that's a grand thing, when you have an inexhaustable supply of Dilithium crystal power matrices to provide locomotive power. But since I was using common fossil fuels, which are easily exhausted, (and quite uncommon in the Amazon wilderness) I no longer had the means with which to fuel my engines. You could say I was up a creek without a paddle, but;
A. I had a paddle
B. The Amazon is the largest river by volume in the world; one could hardly call it a creek.
The silver lining was that the Amazon still flowed inexorably to the sea, and all I had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride. (All the while surviving insurmountable odds against piranhas, blood-born diseases from mosquitos, and unfriendly natives that thought I was a vicous, bloody thirsty moon-demon. But those are stories for another time.)
So, back-story properly addressed, I was sitting on the deck of the Cream Dance Joy mouth agape, while desperately trying to think of something appropriate to say.
"CANNIBALS!"
This was not what I had in mind. Unfortunately, a group of dark-skinned natives, with my mind (and other parts!) on their minds, were rowing furiously towards my tiny ship. There were eight of them, all piled into a large, hollowed out log. A Coleman canoe this wasn't.
"I'm sorry, but did you just call me a cannibal?" The voice on the other end of the line was a mixture of incredulousness and shock. For a moment, in the midst of my own circumstances, I thought about those of the person with which I was speaking. Was this Jenny's father? Roommate? A concerned friend? Filing away these questions for later, I had to engage in a bit of prioritizing - without question, the oncoming dugout full of shamanistic cannibals warranted the bulk of my attention.
TO BE CONTINUED
8....6....7.....5...3....0...9.......
*ring*.........*ring*..........*ring*......."Hello?" A man's voice said uncertainly.
"Hi there! May I speak with Jenny please?"
"I'm sorry, with whom am I speaking?"
"My name is Sean. Sean Jordan. Say....is Jenny home?"
"I'm.....sorry, but.....well....it's just that....Jenny passed away this morning."
"Oh goodness....."
I wasn't sure what to do, or what to say. At this point, I was in completely uncharted waters. Actually, I was in uncharted waters from the very beginning. You see, I was calling from my boat, the Creamy Dance Joy. Formerly a Japanese floating House of Ill-Repute, I had purchased it from an old man for a song and a dance. (I had to sing "Stairway to Heaven" whilst dancing the Charleston. That was some hard work, let me tell you!) Anyways, I had undertaken a long and arduous journey that had led me to the deepest parts of the Amazon jungle. While satellites and aerial reconnaisance had mapped these waters long ago, this part of the land had never seen a white man. Or any other European, for that matter. I had boldly gone where no man had gone before. And that's a grand thing, when you have an inexhaustable supply of Dilithium crystal power matrices to provide locomotive power. But since I was using common fossil fuels, which are easily exhausted, (and quite uncommon in the Amazon wilderness) I no longer had the means with which to fuel my engines. You could say I was up a creek without a paddle, but;
A. I had a paddle
B. The Amazon is the largest river by volume in the world; one could hardly call it a creek.
The silver lining was that the Amazon still flowed inexorably to the sea, and all I had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride. (All the while surviving insurmountable odds against piranhas, blood-born diseases from mosquitos, and unfriendly natives that thought I was a vicous, bloody thirsty moon-demon. But those are stories for another time.)
So, back-story properly addressed, I was sitting on the deck of the Cream Dance Joy mouth agape, while desperately trying to think of something appropriate to say.
"CANNIBALS!"
This was not what I had in mind. Unfortunately, a group of dark-skinned natives, with my mind (and other parts!) on their minds, were rowing furiously towards my tiny ship. There were eight of them, all piled into a large, hollowed out log. A Coleman canoe this wasn't.
"I'm sorry, but did you just call me a cannibal?" The voice on the other end of the line was a mixture of incredulousness and shock. For a moment, in the midst of my own circumstances, I thought about those of the person with which I was speaking. Was this Jenny's father? Roommate? A concerned friend? Filing away these questions for later, I had to engage in a bit of prioritizing - without question, the oncoming dugout full of shamanistic cannibals warranted the bulk of my attention.
TO BE CONTINUED
