merritt
olaf capek
Hi,
This is a flash i wrote for fun: let me know if it has any worth as a funny story to share. should i rework/edit/make longer or just trash it, I definately know the wrapup could be a little better, but should I waste time on it? is the premise funny enouf?
or is it funny just to me
Leo was my best friend. A family man, lived in the same house for the last 20 something years, just celebrated his 25th wedding anniversary. A big strapping, friendly man, who was a sharp sales engineer.
We met as youths. A girl came running up to my buddy Schrecky. and I as we approached the beach,” Did you hear Leo Clapp just ran over a little girl with his mini bike?’ We were 16 so we didn’t fall into that “little” category.
“ No, we didn’t hear nut’ in” we replied and & we all ran down to the beach to see the carnage.
When we got there, there was nothing, no injured girl, no crashed mini bike and no sign of the infamous ”Leo Clapp”. We spent the rest of the day as beach denizens and never met him, although the next day we looked him up. That was the beginning of a 35 year friendship.
Thru our teen years we rampaged on motorcycles until old enough for cars. Then it was girls, cars, drinking, hiking and camping in the Adirondacks. We went to different colleges. Leo thumbed his way across country to stay with his sister on the Columbia River in Washington State for a year.
Leo and I stayed close friends, even when we were super involved with our own lives, and didn’t talk for months we still were buddies.
So I got a job at a high tech company in engineering and Leo went into sales and marketing. We both met women and settled down and had kids, and got together when schedules allowed.
I remember one morning before going fishing, we’d stopped at the local diner Homefry Station for breakfast and he ordered a western omelet. Well, he had a fit because it came with cheese in it.
“Since when does a western omelet have cheese in it?” He says to the waitress. Normally, that wouldn’t cause an incident but Leo has this intensity in his eyes, and did I mention he is a large man.
The waitress got a little huffy and replied,” It’s right on the menu, all omelets come with cheese unless ordered without.”
“Well take it back and make me one without cheese and warm up those grits” he replied with a smile. She scooped up his plate and scampered back to the kitchen.
“Damn, they want to put cheese on everything these days, I think they want my arteries to clog!” he laughed, slightly embarrassed that he made the girl take it back. But that passed quickly and he was his usual ebullient self.
Leo and I retained some of our wild ways, when we hit our thirties we bought motorcycles. In our forties when our kids grew up to high school and college age we started taking “all guy” fishing trips where we would be a little wild, some guys drank to much, some smoked weed. Never any trouble, it was just a fun weekend. Take four or five unsupervised guys in a rented camp on the water, a rented boat, lots of beer & bad language, a few fish and that equals some funny stories.
After our kids were away at college, we would take bi-weekly “health walks” on community trails he had across the street from his house. I remember him ranting in a jocular way about the cheese conspiracy, since he created the topic, he’d joke about it often.
“I’ve hitch-hiked across the US and you used to be able to order a western omelet without cheese! I got one in at least 12 states in the late seventies and the only difference was did they mix it or fold it.” or “The milk board & the cheese producers are in it together!” he’d exclaim.
In public people wouldn’t know if he was serious because he said it in a joking manner, he had a peculiar ominous air despite the twinkle in his eye. He would simply say that we, people in general, were treated like cattle by big business & government and he didn’t like it..
We were both hitting fifty, talking about our retirement plans and schemes, when he turned up dead.
I got a call at work, my wife Laura on the other end. “You better get over to Leos, Gidget just called and they found him dead on the trails.”
I parked in his driveway in time to see them loading him into an ambulance at the trailhead across the street. There was a sheet over him. Looking across the street, one of the neighbors was consoling his wife Gidget on their front porch swing.
I rushed up to the ambulance, where there were troopers, and guys in suits standing around. A sheriff stepped in front of me with his hand up,”Whoa there, can I help you?”
“He’s my best friend, and his wife called me at work to come here. What happened?”
We don’t really know yet.” He said firmly.
“He’s more than just a friend, he’s like my brother.” I was starting to get angry. I don’t know why, I just felt an incredible loss. “ Can I just look at his face?”
He looked over at another trooper who shrugged his shoulders.
“OK, I’ll lift the sheet to give you a look.”
It was him; he looked alive except his eyes were open, unseeing, the blanket under his head showing blood.
“What happened?” I looked up for an answer.
“We’re not sure yet, so please go over and console his wife until her family gets here.” There was nothing I could do, it was the end for him.
A lot of people really loved that guy, who professed to be the “meandad”. We laid him out in a Harley T-Shirt and big shorts like he wanted. He always said he started the big shorts fad. Many, many people came to his funeral and stood up and spoke about him. He was my soul brother. I was desolate.
It turns out this big man was felled by the smallest caliber bullet, a 22, to the back of the head. It penetrated and then bounced around in his head, destroying his brain. The cops figured it was a wandering bullet from afar, on its last legs. They investigated for 2 months, and questioned everybody but didn’t find anyone who was target shooting that day.
Nobody would admit to toting a gun the day Leo was shot. It was Death By Misadventure.
That is pretty much the end of the story except when I took Gidget to the DA’s office to close the investigation formally, I noticed something. In the pictures from the death scene, there he was, familiar, lying on his side, slumped with one hand outstretched. Like he was asleep if you didn’t know he had a small hole in his head. And in his hand was a carton of milk, which had spilled when he collapsed, had left a white froth on the ground.
I grew cold all at once. That’s when I realized there may be a cheese conspiracy!
Because Leo never drank plain milk in his life, he detested the flavor. If it wasn’t chocolate milk, it would not pass his lips. Do they have to put cheese in everything?
This is a flash i wrote for fun: let me know if it has any worth as a funny story to share. should i rework/edit/make longer or just trash it, I definately know the wrapup could be a little better, but should I waste time on it? is the premise funny enouf?
or is it funny just to meGot Milk? Eulogy
Leo was my best friend. A family man, lived in the same house for the last 20 something years, just celebrated his 25th wedding anniversary. A big strapping, friendly man, who was a sharp sales engineer.
We met as youths. A girl came running up to my buddy Schrecky. and I as we approached the beach,” Did you hear Leo Clapp just ran over a little girl with his mini bike?’ We were 16 so we didn’t fall into that “little” category.
“ No, we didn’t hear nut’ in” we replied and & we all ran down to the beach to see the carnage.
When we got there, there was nothing, no injured girl, no crashed mini bike and no sign of the infamous ”Leo Clapp”. We spent the rest of the day as beach denizens and never met him, although the next day we looked him up. That was the beginning of a 35 year friendship.
Thru our teen years we rampaged on motorcycles until old enough for cars. Then it was girls, cars, drinking, hiking and camping in the Adirondacks. We went to different colleges. Leo thumbed his way across country to stay with his sister on the Columbia River in Washington State for a year.
Leo and I stayed close friends, even when we were super involved with our own lives, and didn’t talk for months we still were buddies.
So I got a job at a high tech company in engineering and Leo went into sales and marketing. We both met women and settled down and had kids, and got together when schedules allowed.
I remember one morning before going fishing, we’d stopped at the local diner Homefry Station for breakfast and he ordered a western omelet. Well, he had a fit because it came with cheese in it.
“Since when does a western omelet have cheese in it?” He says to the waitress. Normally, that wouldn’t cause an incident but Leo has this intensity in his eyes, and did I mention he is a large man.
The waitress got a little huffy and replied,” It’s right on the menu, all omelets come with cheese unless ordered without.”
“Well take it back and make me one without cheese and warm up those grits” he replied with a smile. She scooped up his plate and scampered back to the kitchen.
“Damn, they want to put cheese on everything these days, I think they want my arteries to clog!” he laughed, slightly embarrassed that he made the girl take it back. But that passed quickly and he was his usual ebullient self.
Leo and I retained some of our wild ways, when we hit our thirties we bought motorcycles. In our forties when our kids grew up to high school and college age we started taking “all guy” fishing trips where we would be a little wild, some guys drank to much, some smoked weed. Never any trouble, it was just a fun weekend. Take four or five unsupervised guys in a rented camp on the water, a rented boat, lots of beer & bad language, a few fish and that equals some funny stories.
After our kids were away at college, we would take bi-weekly “health walks” on community trails he had across the street from his house. I remember him ranting in a jocular way about the cheese conspiracy, since he created the topic, he’d joke about it often.
“I’ve hitch-hiked across the US and you used to be able to order a western omelet without cheese! I got one in at least 12 states in the late seventies and the only difference was did they mix it or fold it.” or “The milk board & the cheese producers are in it together!” he’d exclaim.
In public people wouldn’t know if he was serious because he said it in a joking manner, he had a peculiar ominous air despite the twinkle in his eye. He would simply say that we, people in general, were treated like cattle by big business & government and he didn’t like it..
We were both hitting fifty, talking about our retirement plans and schemes, when he turned up dead.
I got a call at work, my wife Laura on the other end. “You better get over to Leos, Gidget just called and they found him dead on the trails.”
I parked in his driveway in time to see them loading him into an ambulance at the trailhead across the street. There was a sheet over him. Looking across the street, one of the neighbors was consoling his wife Gidget on their front porch swing.
I rushed up to the ambulance, where there were troopers, and guys in suits standing around. A sheriff stepped in front of me with his hand up,”Whoa there, can I help you?”
“He’s my best friend, and his wife called me at work to come here. What happened?”
We don’t really know yet.” He said firmly.
“He’s more than just a friend, he’s like my brother.” I was starting to get angry. I don’t know why, I just felt an incredible loss. “ Can I just look at his face?”
He looked over at another trooper who shrugged his shoulders.
“OK, I’ll lift the sheet to give you a look.”
It was him; he looked alive except his eyes were open, unseeing, the blanket under his head showing blood.
“What happened?” I looked up for an answer.
“We’re not sure yet, so please go over and console his wife until her family gets here.” There was nothing I could do, it was the end for him.
A lot of people really loved that guy, who professed to be the “meandad”. We laid him out in a Harley T-Shirt and big shorts like he wanted. He always said he started the big shorts fad. Many, many people came to his funeral and stood up and spoke about him. He was my soul brother. I was desolate.
It turns out this big man was felled by the smallest caliber bullet, a 22, to the back of the head. It penetrated and then bounced around in his head, destroying his brain. The cops figured it was a wandering bullet from afar, on its last legs. They investigated for 2 months, and questioned everybody but didn’t find anyone who was target shooting that day.
Nobody would admit to toting a gun the day Leo was shot. It was Death By Misadventure.
That is pretty much the end of the story except when I took Gidget to the DA’s office to close the investigation formally, I noticed something. In the pictures from the death scene, there he was, familiar, lying on his side, slumped with one hand outstretched. Like he was asleep if you didn’t know he had a small hole in his head. And in his hand was a carton of milk, which had spilled when he collapsed, had left a white froth on the ground.
I grew cold all at once. That’s when I realized there may be a cheese conspiracy!
Because Leo never drank plain milk in his life, he detested the flavor. If it wasn’t chocolate milk, it would not pass his lips. Do they have to put cheese in everything?
