Date: Sat, 27 Oct 2007 07:45:57 -0500
From: J.J. <jjjanicki@gmail.com>
Subject: Understanding Sex-Part 11

First, the usual disclaimer. If you're not supposed to be here reading
this sort of thing, and you STILL aren't exiting, be careful, OK?

And a somewhat unusual disclaimer. This is not really an approx 65k sex
story, it's a double issue. Sort of. The first 24k or so is pretty much
the usual Nifty fare. Those of you who have stuck with my stoy so far
should find it to be at least be of SOME interest, and some may find it
to be very interesting indeed. I'm hoping for VERY interesting myself,
but anyway...

Once you reach "The Great Reel" if you would like, you can stop reading.
Although I hope when you get the time, you'll read it too, because it
DOES provide some more character development, even if most of the
characters aren't even in the story anymore. But there's one character
who IS still in the story. Very much so. And since I really like this
story, I've FINALLY found an excuse to include it, all right? And honest,
it's not too bad. At least I don't think it is. But don't expect a lot of
sex. Character development yes, sex not really.


                      Understanding Sex-Part 11
                       The Special Double Issue


Like I said, I tried practicing at #5 yesterday, but was distracted by
that butt plug. Even if the original reason for my even PRETENDING to
practice was the plug. As in, "Geez, I wonder how it would be if I tried
playing a few rounds like this?" BOING! (Although to be honest, until
actually arriving at #5 it was only a mild stirring.) I had on my
official APPNA shirt neatly tucked in and some nice jeans. And beneath my
jeans I was wearing my jock strap. Backwards. Tallis assured me the
"little" one wasn't likely to slip out, but I was taking no chances. And
in case you're wondering, the plug I was using was only three inches
long. But the diameter was adult sized and then some. So yes, even if I
was getting used to it, I still felt it. I felt stretched.

Then ADAM showed up. And not long after, I decided to give up practicing.
I told him I just had my mind on something else is all, and I was about
to head back to Aunt Esther's, but he said he wasn't all that interested
in practicing either; he'd thought he was, but he wasn't. So before I
left did I want to go burn one with him?

We ended up burning two. It looks like I'm about to become an addict. But
inhibitions were lowered. In Adam's case, it looks like it just killed
the FUCK out of them. And you already know what I'm REALLY addicted to.

Well, in a way without meaning too I sort of started the ball rolling
when I decided to take off my shirt right after we got into the woods.
It's just a small patch of woods, but secluded and well out of sight from
any of the nearby business establishments. And I took off my shirt
because it's white and I didn't want to get it dirty. That's perfectly
logical. And besides, it was fairly hot yesterday.

So after a few tokes Adam decided he'd take off his shirt for the same
reason. He even said as much. And it felt nice, he allowed. He's started
growing some fuzz in his armpits. Just barely.

THEN, right when I was in the middle of a toke, he started pulling his
tan casual slacks off! And he DID, too. And my eyes bugged out and I
started coughing.

"Sorry if I startled you, but these get dirty awfully easy as well. ...
How you like my new boxers?" he said brightly.

"Damn, Adam" I wheezed, then I allowed, "They look pretty cool." And they
did, actually. Red with white rain drop-looking things all over. And
fairly short too. Those ones that come down to your knees almost I don't
much care for. His bikini briefs would have been better (a THONG better
still), but they did look cool. And sort of sexy. Well, I guess so. ADAM
KEMME is sitting out in the woods with me in his boxer shorts!

Misinterpreting my stunned look somewhat he added, "I'm making up for how
I was last year?"

I shrugged wryly. "Umm, well, I'm making for last year too, I guess. I'M
being modest." (But you can understand why I'm opting for keeping my
pants on at this point, yes? Of course you can. There just ain't no
WAY...)

"Modest. Yeah, I guess I can relate to that. I was modest last year,
wasn't I? Speaking of which ... well, in Colorado Springs? So I was just
wondering, that's all, but whose idea was it to steal my pajama bottoms
anyway? It was probably Matthew's, wasn't it?"

Well at least he didn't sound mad about it. Sooo.. I `fessed up. Yeah, it
was Matthew all right. And Austin. I sort of went along with it, but I
tried to talk them out of it. Really, I DID. Which is the truth, if you
will recall. Although of course I left out how I'd felt about all that.

And he took it very well. Seemed to, but then Michael Corleone seemed to
take Carlo's admission of guilt fairly well in The Godfather, too. But I
think I can rest easy, because Adam went on to make some very
UNGodfather-like comments. Such as admitting he was weird last summer.
But it was his mom's fault. That and puberty. He wasn't ready for puberty
last summer, that's all. And then he wandered off into another subject.
Sort of. Getting wasted and losing your inhibitions has it's advantages.

Right out of nowhere he goes, "You know I'm an illegitimate child?"

No I didn't I said, but then it hardly mattered one way of the other
because I'm probably illegitimate myself. I don't even know who my real
parents ARE.

"Yeah, I guess that could be tough" he said, then he added, "But you know
what my mom used to do when I was six?" See? We're just wandering all
OVER the damn place here.

"No. What?" I wondered.

"She used to go around the house naked."

Which produced another coughing spell, interrupted by Adam going, "Well,
she DID", and "I'm not making this up" and possibly something else, but
finally I managed, "So was she good looking?" (I've never actually seen
his mother.)

At which point he somewhat icily replied, "She's my mom."

"Well, I don't want to see my step-mom naked either. But what was she, a
nudist or something?"

"My mom?"

"Yeah."

"No, I think she wanted me to be comfortable with the idea of sexual
differences. I'm pretty sure that was it. ... But it had the opposite
effect I think. I could sense she wasn't all that comfortable without her
clothes on, you know what I mean? Like she was forcing it. And her pubic
hair scared me... Shit, I was only six you know. ... Hey, you want to
smoke another?"

"NOW? Damn Adam... Well, it's your bag."

"Yes. That IS an important consideration I suppose. ... So let's do it
then."

And then things started getting weird. Starting with me noticing that the
head of his penis was poking out of the left leg of his boxers while he
was busily rolling up a small cigar. Of course I didn't want to let on;
you should KNOW that by now; but I just HAD to steal more than just one
glance. (And right, you should know that TOO.) So was it my imagination,
or was he getting slightly stiff? No, it WASN'T my imagination, I could
see his pink glans slow-ly peeking out, slow-ly his penis was lengthening
and ever so slowly it was starting to tilt upwards. (!!!) Oh my god. This
is not happening. It can't be. I'm hallucinating again. Yeah, well if I
am, I sure would like to do a little more of it. But under the
circumstances, it might be better if I was by myself. Oh I hadn't
forgotten about that plug up my ass, not at ALL. If not for that, I would
have been sitting out there in just my jockey shorts long time ago, right
behind Adam, but... damn it! I really HATE having to be modest.

Adam interrupted my wildly boomeranging thoughts with "Does this shit
make you horny? ... It sure does me" and then he discreetly adjusted
himself. So IT disappeared. Although it was still creating a noticeable
bulge. And by then I was getting a bit tumescent myself, even if it
wasn't as obvious what with my jeans and all.

"Yeah, I've noticed that myself" I allowed.

"Noticed what?"

"Noticed that it makes me sort of horny sometimes" I said defensively.
Then I quickly added, "Which is pretty cool, you know?"

"Depends on where you are when it happens" replied Adam with a somewhat
nervous giggle. And I was thinking, "Well, you're the one sitting out
here in your undies, I mean, damn!" but he continued musingly, "But it
really has a whole lot to do with adolescence, I think."

"Yeah, I think I've caught that myself" I said.

"But the thing is.." he rushed on (and all at once MY gaydar went off
because there was that certain SOMETHING in his voice, but circumstances
being what they were, I was also thinking, "Where exactly is this GOING,
anyway?") "But the thing is, almost ANYTHING can... get you horny, like
if it's something you don't normally do" (like sitting out in the woods
in your boxer shorts) "like... well, like even casual nudity, you know?"
(Oh. THAT'S where this was going. And at that very instant I bitterly
promised myself I was never EVER going to show up at the course again
with a goddamn butt plug stuck up my ass. NEVER!) "If it's something you
don't normally do, it can get you horny"  he finished. (In case you lost
track.)

Because he WASN'T finished. No. "So when did you all at once get so
modest anyway?"

"Umm, I didn't wear my undies today" I stammered.

"Yes you did. What? You forget you had them on or something?"

I looked down. And the waist band of my jock was showing. "Well, actually
I'm wearing a jock strap. ... But that's all."

"Oh" said Adam. And he did seem a bit disappointed. Really, I could tell.
And he pondered. Which means he might not have given up on this. And he
hadn't. "You know that school I went to? It's all boys. And sometimes if
you didn't know any better, you would have thought everybody there was
gay or something. Really! But it WASN'T that way at all, it's just
that... well, you know what I mean, it's just being the age we are,
that's all, most everybody there is going to end up normal as hell... but
a jock strap's not so bad, and like I sort of put myself out on a limb
here, so... well, I don't know, I mean it's SORT of weird I guess,
but..."

Oh, the thoughts that ricocheted through my head at about a million miles
an hour at that point. Some of which were; "HE was out on a limb? Well, I
guess he was. Although if he hadn't SAID so, maybe he WOULDN'T be. But he
was. And almost every kid at #5 last year would have just LEFT his ass
out there. And told everybody else about it. Depending on what mood I was
in, I might have done it myself. Like right after we were playing dollar
nassau and he shot a damn 10-12 22, for instance. But MOST of the time, I
wouldn't have. Not me. And NOW... but NOW I had a problem. And while I
was willing to go out on a limb a LITTLE ways... I mean after all, I knew
all about that... oh shit. How am I going to get OUT of this without
screwing things up?" Thoughts like that. Just bouncing around inside my
head. But. Finally I managed, "Well, actually I've got it on backwards
right now." (Oh, that was a GOOD one!)

"Backwards? How did you manage THAT?"

So now he was out on a limb and I was out on another. REALLY good move.
"Well see... well, the thing is..." (Think, J.J., THINK! You can still do
it..) "The thing is, I've sort of got diarrhea, OK?" (That just might
work!) So you know how it is, right? So I stuffed some tissue paper in
the pouch and that's why I've got it on like that, OK? Just in case,
that's all."

"Oh. ... Well, that ALMOST makes sense. If I think about it long enough I
guess it does. But that being the case... well, you want to try
something? It doesn't mean we're gay or anything, but we did this at
school and it was sort of a trip... you ever THOUGHT off?"

Weird, ain't it? "Understanding Sex-Part 5." "The Rabbit Salad Sandwich."
Now that's WEIRD. "Almost" I allowed.

"So I'm going to take that as a definite yes then. And here I go out a
little FURTHER on the limb, OK?" and with that, without giving himself
any more time to think about it, ZIP, he pulled his boxers down to his
ankles. (!!) Then he added quickly, "And I trust you've got a boner too."
(I just never get tired of looking at that thing. Never.)

Exaggerating only slightly I said, "Shit. I can get a boner going over a
speed bump. Yeah, I got one all right" and shortly afterwards there I was
with just my jock strap on. Backwards. I'd looked at myself in the mirror
when I'd first put it on and I really liked the effect, and I still did.

"Interesting" said Adam.

"Yeah, I guess. So now what? How do we go about thinking off?"

"Well OK" said Adam, "What's the weirdest thing you've ever done?"

"Oh. We're going to trade horny stories. That MIGHT work. But first, why
don't you fire that cigar you just rolled up?"

"Oh yeah" he giggled. "I forgot about it." So he fired it up and after a
couple of passes he repeated, "Now. One more time. What's the weirdest
thing you've ever done?"

"Well, I think you should go first because it was your idea. So what's
the weirdest thing YOU'VE ever done?"

"Well, one time I was rummaging around the kitchen, at my mom's? And I
came across this can of ready-mixed chocolate icing... and I fucked it."

I managed, "Excuse me?"

"I fucked it."

Snigger attack. Pretty big one. But after a little bit, "Well, was it a
good one?"

"I thought so. But it was messy. Very MUCH so. If my mom had walked in on
me about then, she would've had a heart attack. I almost had one anyway.
Chocolate icing was EVERYWHERE!... Now. Your turn."

"I fucked a hole in the ground" I blurted. Although really it was a
sandpile. I dug a hole in it, wet it down and went to it. And I wouldn't
suggest trying that yourself, because it WASN'T good. Unless you like
fucking sandpaper. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. Which is
pretty much what I told Adam.

"Was it bleeding?" he wondered.

"No, but I didn't feel like messing with it for a couple of days. But you
say chocolate icing works pretty good?"

"Yeah. Except for the mess. I had icing from my navel down to my knees.
Even had some on my socks! That's all I had on, just my socks. And you
know what? I couldn't even SEE my dick. Or my balls for that matter. Just
a big glob of icing. That's IT. It was fucking AWFUL! ...But I don't know
if this going to work. Thinking off, I mean. But STILL... tell me another
weird thing you've done."

"I think it's your turn" I said.

"Oh. Well... well, OK. You ever heard of spanking games?"

And THAT just about did it. Right THEN. And it's ALSO in the hard to
believe category, because it just so happens that my second cum Tuesday
night with Tallis came as a result of... you guessed it, a spanking game.
Shit, after I FINALLY came that first time when he kept taking me right
up to the edge and then pulling back I was thinking I wouldn't be able to
do it again for at least a day, THEN he mentioned spanking and whoa!
There it went again. Almost an instant hard-on. How Tallis came up with
that I don't know, but it was a TRIP. He was spanking my ass HARD. But
with his hand. I was laying across his lap and our dicks were tied
together with a shoelace. You ought to try that some time. And even
though HE came when I came, I still spanked his ass good anyway. My arm
was getting tired before I finished. But anyway, Tallis said he just
about came again when I was spanking him. Well me too, but after a bit of
rest and fondling, he sat on my pole, and soon enough, we both came
again. It seems like I have a deep reservoir. And now ADAM was mentioning
it, and... well shit. If you've got to deal with it anyway, why NOT make
it a game?

But anyway. We exchanged various stories. His about how they played this
game at school where the loser would get spanked bare-ass. And how it was
a trip. Then he wondered if they used corporal punishment at that academy
I went to. And I said oh yes, they did. Big time. And then I started
making up shit about how we had to strip naked and while I was at it, I
think we just kept getting hornier and hornier. Only no think OFFS. Adam
said he guessed we were getting too jaded for or own good.

And no spanking games out there in the woods either. Too much noise. (And
of course I could still think of another good reason to postpone it.)
(Yeah, right. POSTPONE. Not CANCELED. But I'll get to THAT in a bit, OK?)

I'll get to THAT after telling you about THIS, OK? Neither one of us
having managed to think off, Adam went, "Well OK, you want to try
something else? I mean it's not going to make either of us gay, OK? So
you want to?"

You know what? I LIKE being seduced. And I THINK that's what's going on.
So really, this is every bit as cool as what's going on with Tallis. To
me it is.

But anyway, after I shyly nodded yes to whatever it was that he had in
mind he asked, "So have you ever heard of a circle jerk?"

"Is that where you do me and I do you at the same time?"

"Yeah. So you want to? We'll see who comes first, OK?"

So I said OK. Really, I just LOVE being seduced. It is a TRIP! But in
case you're interested, I came first. Just as SOON as I grabbed his hot
velvety soft hard as steel shaft and pulled his sort of loose foreskin
down and then back up (it felt sort of, I don't know, squishy?), I
erupted.

"Well damn! You're supposed to wait until I start pulling on it!"
exclaimed Adam.

"Sorry" I said, "But you still want me to get you off, right?"

"Damn right I do."

So I did. And he didn't last all THAT long. I was hoping he could hold
out, oh I don't know, thirty minutes maybe? But he didn't. Oh well.

But this is the best summer ever, I'm not kidding.

Oh, and about the POSTPONED bit. Adam said he's not going to be around
much until just before the tournaments next weekend. No, he's not going
off anywhere, it's just that there are some things his grandparents want
in exchange for his being able to drive their 77 Mercury Monarch once he
turns 16, which is right after the tournaments. But get this. Either
Tuesday or Wednesday right after the tournaments here, he and I are off
to Reading, PA. They're having back-to-back tournaments in Reading and
Harrisburg, and WE'RE going. Just us. And then, when we're not busy
practicing... we'll try some more games. Which Adam assures me will not
mean we're gay. well, whatever.

And FINALLY, Adam wondered if I'd ever written any porno stories. To
which I replied (quite naturally) what KIND of porno? Only I couldn't get
a definite answer on that. So I guess I'll have to play it by ear. Make
it a progressive sort of thing. But ANYway, here's my first. It's a short
one. And I'll only explain this much. One time I came across this book of
fantasies and/or true confessions, OK? Some lady writer had males from 13
on up to maybe 80 send her stories and then she offered her insight into
the wonderful varieties of male sexuality and consulted psychoanalysts
and psychotherapists and all that for additional insight and all. And
apparently this book was on the national best-seller list for awhile.
Really. So I was going to send that lady a fantasy or two, only before
that happened the book was discovered in my room by my ever vigilant
step-mother and that took care of that. But anyway, this is supposedly
being written by Adam, OK?


My name is Adam. I'm sixteen. Also, I am profoundly gifted, which seems
to be of more significance to my mom than to me. There are times when I
wonder just what it will take to satisfy that woman. I am the result of
what in all probability was her only moment of weakness ever. (I am an
illegitimate child.) So there. I've said it. And I'm GLAD I said it.

But wait, there's more.

My mom likes to think she's quite progressive, so she told me about the
birds and bees when I was six. I only asked a simple question and she
told me EVERYTHING, or at least I think she did. As I'm not completely
sure WHAT she told me because it made me very uncomfortable and I tuned
her out. You probably won't believe this, but my mom even started going
around the house NAKED. It was supposed to make me feel comfortable with
the idea of sexual differences, but I'm afraid it had the exact opposite
effect. For one thing, I could sense that she was somewhat uncomfortable
herself which was probably because she was forcing it. Also, I was
bothered by her pubic hair. It frightened me. This may sound strange, but
last year when I finally reached puberty, I was bothered by my own pubic
hair. Had it not been for the simple fact that it would only grow back, I
believe I would have shaved it off. (And by the way, my mom did
eventually stop going naked in front of me. I was to say the least very
relieved.)

I will also admit that once puberty arrived, I began masturbating with
great enthusiasm, which led to the following embarrassing moment.

My mom is self-employed, so a great deal of her work is done at home, but
one morning when she was supposed to be out of the house for some time I
suddenly began to wonder what it would feel like to stick my penis into a
can of ready-mixed chocolate icing. Well, it felt quite interesting, in
fact it occurred to me that it might be possible to very nearly simulate
the sex act. I realized doing this could be a bit messy, so smart child
that I am, I removed all my clothes except for my socks. I then placed
the can of icing in the middle of my mom's kitchen floor, got over it and
lowered myself down until it received me with a joyful slurp. It felt
wonderful, as though it was sucking me right in! In fact, I must say I
thought it was the best idea I'd ever had, even after the inevitable
conclusion. At least for a few fleeting seconds I thought it was
something I might want to try again, but then as my eyes cleared I was
horrified to discover that I had made a considerable mess of the kitchen
floor, not to mention myself. It was beyond belief! I seemed to be
covered with ready-mixed chocolate icing from just above my navel to
about a third of the way down to my knees and as for my genitals; they
had all but disappeared. I could see almost nothing except a huge glob of
slowly dripping chocolate icing. So yes, I was horrified and I was
disgusted. And THEN my mom walked in.

Prior to that, the most intensely felt feeling of collective disgust had
been when my mom icily suggested that in the future I might pay more
attention to personal hygiene after my deodorant did not work as
advertised, but even that seemed insignificant in comparison. For a few
seconds I quite simply could not move and my mom; who once did her
housework in the nude in the interest of furthering my sex education;
could not bring herself to look at me once she'd carefully set down her
groceries. Finally I was able to stammer out something to the effect that
I wasn't expecting her back until that afternoon.

"Obviously you weren't, Adam" she said while keeping her back to me. "It
may well interest you to know that Mrs. Van Snoot is waiting for me
outside in the car. I almost invited her in, Adam."

That would have been of some interest to all of us, I'm sure. Enveloped
by an almost palpable black cloud of disgust, I stood there wondering
exactly what to do next.

She said, "I assume you are about to go to the shower?"

"I'm.. I'm sorry" I said.

"Wonderful" she said. "And I assume you are going to the shower?"

"Yes" I said sadly.

"Well wrap yourself with this so you don't leave a trail of chocolate on
my carpet. Do you think there is any way you can possibly manage that?"
and with shaking hands she tore off a large sheet of Handi-Wrap. Still
unable to look at me, she merely held it out until I took it from her. I
was shaking all over as well.

She never made mention of that incident again. Actually, it was at least
three weeks before she spoke to me at all. In retrospect, I wish I had
been neater about it. And I also wish that I and several of my friends
had fucked that can of icing ten times each and I wish I had then made a
cake and covered it with that can of icing and I wish my mom had shared
it with Mrs. Van Snoot. One day perhaps I'll see to this.


Well, it's like I've written a fantasy that involves someone who no
longer exists. Sort of. And I may or may not show it to Adam. But if I
DO, well, it sort of opens the door for some OTHER games, right?

jjjanicki@gmail.com


And NOW for the part you can read later on if you want to. Or you can not
read it. Even if I really wish you would when you get the chance. I'm
including it because it was during this incident that I first really
started liking Adam, OK?

And it's also my final tribute to the summer of 87 at the Minneapolis #5
Putt'n'Putt.

But I do want to make it clear that all names have been changed. Which in
ALL of my stories is the case, but in THIS case, I would like to make
this TOTALLY clear. Because of possible legal action, you know. The home
office is very bad about that.


                          The Great Reel

This is a true story. Me, Matthew and Adam were indirectly involved in
this. Martin, Ray Kohle, Leo and McAteer were deeply involved. And Abner
Zimmerman. He lived in the upper parking lot in his Lincoln Continental.
Other people who play important parts in the story before it's finally
over are Robert Etron; last year's course champ who is detested by
everybody who knows him except mabye his parents; Lars; the general
manager who often showed up unannounced to see just exactly what in the
hell was going on at #5; William Bourrique, owner of our course and
several others, some of which were pretty successful; Eugene Edward Taon;
founder and chairman and of the board of Putt'n'Putt International;
McArthur Vomi; lanky putt'n'putter of the decade (70s) and more recently
named the greatest putt'n'putter ever to stare down a golf ball; Donna
Freeman; the perpetually cheerful and bubbling Birthday Party Colonel;
and a few others who can be introduced as the story progresses.

This all got started last summer after the home office declared McArthur
Vomi to be the greatest putt'n'putter of all time. Because if the home
office said it WAS so, then all the malcontents at #5 would say it was
NOT so. And since McArthur has been held up by the home office to be the
epitome of what every right-thinking, properly uniformed member of the
PPPNA, APPNA and JPPNA should aspire to become, he is sneered upon by our
malcontents. And there are quite a few other PPPNA members across the
nation who share that opinion.

I will admit that McArthur Vomi is a good putter because there's really
no way I can deny it. If I could, I would, but I can't. He's won two
World Championships, three National Championships and according to
"Putt'n'Putt Fun", more than 43 qualifying tournaments. Whatever that
means. It might mean 44. Or maybe not. But no, he's not sneered at
because he can't putt a lick. Nor can the dislike be attributed to his
corny witticisms or his stupid, doting galleries, although that DOES have
a lot to do with it. No, the biggest reason McArthur is disliked is just
that he's seen as an all too visible representative of the home office,
i.e. Eugene Edward Taon, founder and chairman of the board of Putt'n'Putt
International, and to make matters worst, last year the home office
decided to send him on an all-expenses paid exhibition tour of 53 cities
in the U.S. and Canada including 4 in QUEBEC, Which is where they mostly
speak French. So McArthur should consider having his last name changed,
But anyway, at each stop McArthur would play a match against that
course's "champion" determined in a match-play tournament a week or so
prior to his arrival.

Last year's Minneapolis #5 champion was Robert Etron. I'd just as soon
not dwell on his appearance, so I'll just say he is UG-LY and leave it at
that. Although he IS always properly attired. His momma makes SURE he is.
But apparently there's nothing that can be done to stop his belt from
rolling inward at the top of his large belly. (Aside from wearing his
belt a little lower, I mean. I don't guess that's ever occurred to him.)
I think it runs in the family, because once his momma and his poor little
hen-pecked pot-bellied daddy showed up at the course and damn if THEIR
belts didn't roll inward as well. I remember his momma was wearing neon
green polyester leisure slacks. A sight like that really stays with you
for awhile.

But whether or not a person is UG-LY is of no real importance. It's
what's inside that counts, right? Well, in Robert's case, his personality
is much worse than his appearance. He is not a good loser. But he's an
even worse winner. Whenever he loses, he stomps off, climbs into his 1974
Cadillac Sedan DeVille, slams the door hard as he can and roars away,
blue smoke billowing behind. And everybody cheers. But when he wins, he
STAYS, and gloats, and strides majestically about.

From what I've heard, he first started inflicting himself on #5 at age
twelve when his mother would deposit him, one free pass and fifty cents
at ten in the morning and come back to pick him up at around three in the
afternoon. So his mother was soon told to please stop doing that. In
reply she said she'd just take the matter to the Better Business Bureau.
The daytime man back then was an old gezzar who certainly would never put
up with the JPPNA and he wasn't ABOUT to put up with a whining fat
momma's boy, so he told Robert's momma, "Lady, next time you leave that
boy on my course, I'll brain 'im with a putter. Now you take THAT to the
Better Business Bureau!"

She instead took the matter to William Bourrique and Henry, the crusty
old gezzar, was terminated. For that reason Henry is revered as a martyr,
even though he would not have countenanced even for a minute today's
JPPNA.

And so Robert continued to hang about like a fly. At first his attempts
at putt'n'putting were laughable, but he doggedly stayed with it.

Then things took a sinister turn. Robert reached age eighteen and could
stay out late at night and make trips to out-of-town tournaments. His
momma and daddy usually took him. He began to every now and then putt
fairly well, then as time passed, quite often very well.

By last year he had that 74 Sedan DeVille and a job at Burger King. He
still lived at home, but he was 22 and could stay out almost until
midnight. He became an absolute terror as he stalked about the course,
always properly attired with the official PPPNA rule book in his back
pocket. Many were the people who wished to drill his eyes out, fewer and
fewer were the people who could, and NO one, not even R.L., who in 1987
had the 8th lowest stroke average in the PPPNA, could ALWAYS do it, and
certainly not at #5.

On the night of the special course championship which determined who won
the privilege of being McArthur Vomi's straight man, some 26
putt'n'putters of various skill levels paid their $10 entry fee. But of
course none of the malcontents competed. (There were fourteen fairly
proficient putt'n'putters among the malcontents, not including the
JPPNAs.) Only four foolish JPPNAs played, and with the exception of
Russell, none were likely candidates for the all-star team. So Martin
encouraged the malcontents and the JPPNAs to remain in a group and harass
Robert. It was to this supposed end that we gathered together in the
upper parking lot and harassed practically everybody involved in the
tournament. But in spite of that, at last the final match was reached.
Robert was on a roll and apparently gaining in strength, no doubt fueled
by our negative energy. His opponent in the finals was Randall Herring,
quietly determined and dour. Since nobody much cared for him either, we
all left at that point. (Us malcontents.)

So at this point you might be wondering some more about Martin, seeing as
how he was the manager and all. Well, Martin really and truly wasn't what
you would call Putt'n'Putt management material. He just could never take
it that seriously. But he couldn't make himself go out and find a better
job either. His folks were somewhat disappointed since he was an adult
and of above average intelligence, but he just felt Putt'n'Putt;
especially at #5; was more entertaining than "The Rocky Horror Show" or
even "Plan 9 From Outer Space". But even so, he TRIED to have a
successful course. Most of the time. Or at least sometimes.

Anyway, Martin decided to film a mock documentary using his camcorder.
And I think it would've been a lot more fun if he'd let somebody besides
himself and Leo use it, but I guess he got some interesting stuff anyway.

First "we" got some shots of Robert grimly practicing for his date with
destiny. Martin said he was going to dub in background music. Like "Eye
Of The Tiger", the theme from "Jaws", some stirring John Phillips Sousa,
some nauseous elevator music and possibly some crying violins.

As for the actual video; many of the shots came on hole #8, which is
because of the big decorative bush behind it. In deep concentration,
Robert would tee up, carefully walk his ball's intended path and take his
carefully measured practice strokes, but just as he was about to actually
putt, the bush would part and there would be a couple of JPPNAs not even
THINKING about leaving. I was in that bush a few times myself. So with
slow and menacing strides, staring balefully and breathing heavily,
Robert would advance on the distraction in the bush. Only at the last
instant would we flee the scene. Once before regular business hours the
bush parted to reveal Matthew's bare behind. And then there was Tallis
Kito's. I sort of wanted to do that myself, but I never got up the nerve.
Too bad. But anyway, I think the best shot was when several dirt clods
came flying out of the bush seemingly of their own accord and just
totally BURIED Robert's ball. We CRUSHED that baby. Now THAT was
beautiful.

Oh and Martin got Leo to narrate the film. Leo was very good at speaking
in hushed apocalyptic tones.

We thought about it but finally Martin decided it wasn't feasible to
ignite the bush.

We did a few interviews with various Putt'n'Putt habitues. Of course the
remarks were edited, since we were just after inane and ridiculous. What
we ended up with were several different variations on "Well, I'm sure
he'll be ready to play" and some statements fragmented beyond
comprehension by dubbed in electronic tones signifying expletives masked.
And we were also going to interview Robert, but he wouldn't talk to us.

We also intended to do man-on-the-street interviews, retaining of course
only the blankest expressions. But we never got around to that.

AND we were going to interview Robert's momma! We WERE! Well, sort of. We
were going to start with a shot of her front door. While normal people
have welcome mats, even if they don't really mean it, Robert's momma
wasn't too concerned with social niceties. What she had was a "Posted No
Trespassing" sign. It was nailed right beside the front door. McAteer was
assigned the task of knocking on Mrs. Etron's front door, since it was
felt his very appearance was guaranteed to elicit vile pithy remarks, a
slammed door and threats of violence with a .357 Magnum. But Martin and
Ray Kohle assured McAteer that Robert's momma probably wouldn't REALLY
start shooting, I mean just as soon as she threatened him, he should just
get OFF of her damn front porch and if he did, nothing else was likely to
happen. Or so they said.

The scene was to go thusly: Announcer: (Speaking breathlessly), "We are
now at the home of Robert Etron where our intrepid reporter, Gary
McAteer, will delve into his mother's deepest and most heart-felt
emotions concerning this sure to be a classic match between her son,
Robert, newly crowned Minneapolis #5 champ, and world famous putting pro
McArthur Vomi, recently declared greatest-" (about then I guess the door
would open, so our narrator would go).. "Ladies and gentlemen, the door
is opening. Gary?"

(It was hoped the door would open, but in all probability it would only
crack, night latch  still latched, her beady little eyes peering
balefully out at McAteer. But we hoped we could at least get a shot of
her in frumpy house coat, her hair in curlers.)

McAteer: "Uh, Mrs. Etron, I'm here-"

Naturally at this point, pithy remarks would issue forth. McAteer, panic
stricken, would then beat a hasty retreat. Only the beginning of his
headlong flight would be shown though, as the video would suddenly begin
to weave wildly about and focus on blurred images of power lines and the
tops of trees. Then sounds of pandemonium and gun shots would be dubbed
in. That would have been great. But sadly, we never even got CLOSE to her
house. We should have, but everybody chickened out.

So you see, in spite of our best intentions nothing much really would've
happened, but then came the great reel. Then things started getting out
of hand. But I suppose before I sail off into this part of the story I
should tell you exactly what a reel is.

A reel is a fabrication, the more improbable the better, designed to be
accepted as fact by the intended victim or victims so that the
perpetrator(s) of the fabrication might eventually make light of the
victim's gullibility. The reel is considered complete when the "fish"
(victim) is "reeled in". (Advised that he or she is a damn fool for
believing such a preposterous story. In so many words. But if it's Robert
Etron you can just call him a damn fool because he can't catch you.)

For a reel to reach classic proportions, it should be maintained for at
least a day. (It isn't considered good form to stay with a reel for much
longer than a day because at that point the line between a reel and an
out and out lie starts getting blurred.) The more people in on the reel
the better, because a large group of people laughing at the victim will
be more humiliating than just one person. And the degree of difficulty
would be higher with a large group as well, since it's more difficult for
a large group of people to be in on it without somebody prematurely
letting the cat out of the bag.

Oh, and I almost forgot. Often it is necessary that several people be
reeled even if there is only one primary target.

The victim of the reel that became an avalanche bearing down on the main
perpetrators (Martin and Ray Kohle) was supposed to be Robert Etron. Of
course. It started like this on a Saturday afternoon.

"Hey, Ray Kohle. Since you don't have anything else to do, why don't you
start on your Putt'n'Putt Fun again? I got something this afternoon that
might give you something to work with" said Martin and with that, he
sailed the memorandum which had been folded into a paper glider toward
the picnic table. It landed very nicely in front of Ray Kohle. He looked
at it questioningly.

"Read it" encouraged Martin.

Ray Kohle could be as demonstrative as any JPPNA and he put on a decent
act after he finished reading. He suddenly stiffened and appeared to be
in shock. He just sat there with a fixed stare for close to a minute,
then he began slowly sliding off the picnic bench. Well, this slowly
sliding to the floor can be accomplished over at the Happy Heifer since
their booths have padded surfaces, but all Ray Kohle managed at the
picnic table was to abruptly fall to the pavement while striking the back
of his head on the bench. Once he finished cussing he resumed his place
at the picnic table.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" said Martin.

"Yes it is remarkable" said Ray Kohle. They were of course referring to
the memorandum.

The memorandum was a "suggested" publicity announcement written by
someone in the home office which was to be read over the course's p.a.
system during peak business hours so as to create additional interest in
McArthur Vomi's visit. This was what Martin was supposed to read, out
loud, so everybody on the whole course could hear it: "Picture this. He's
a tall lanky man, standing a full head taller than most men his age. He
walks at a determined gait with paces that reflect the perfection toned
into his entire muscular system. He is a man who, at the age of nineteen,
began playing a game called Putt'n'Putt. Since that time, he has matured
and watched Putt'n'Putt grow into a full-fledged sport with thousands of
followers across the continent. His name is McArthur Vomi, acclaimed by
his peers to be the greatest putter ever to stare down a golf ball. We of
the (Minneapolis #5) Putt'n'Putt are proud to announce that on (Friday
night, July 3 at 8:30), McArthur Vomi will be here to do battle with
(Robert Etron), (Minneapolis #5)'s very best putter in a no-holds-barred
36-hole match. Beyond a doubt, this match will be played over and over
again in the minds of Putt'n'Putt fans around the world. You are
cordially invited to witness this event, free of charge. Thank you for
playing Putt'n'Putt."

Honest. That's what it said. Not to belabor the obvious (meaning that I
probably will anyway)... Well, just once, OK? I mean, what exactly IS a
no-holds-barred match?

Could it mean, "Yes folks, here we are at the final hole of what has been
a truly classic match. Vomi is one up. If Etron is to have a chance,
Vomi, the greatest putt'n'putter of all time, must miss. Vomi putts. It
looks good. Oh, my goodness gracious! It's a perfectly putted putt!! It
can't miss! No! WAIT! Here comes Etron! He's.. he's AFTER THE BALL! BUT
IT'S A PERFECTLY PUTTED PUTT BY THE GREATEST PUTT'N'PUTTER OF ALL TIME!
But .. but.. NO!! OH NO!!! ETRON HAS JUST KICKED VOMI'S PERFECTLY PUTTED
PUTT OVER THE RAIL! The crowd is in a frenzy! Vomi.. WATCH OUT!.. Oh ..
no.. A right jab! A left! No! NO!! NOT THE PUTTER!! Vomi is DOWN!"?

No, it couldn't possibly mean THAT.

Something like that did happen in a JPPNA match though. Almost.

But anyway, back at the picnic table, discussion turned to the possible
identity of the author of that memorandum. It was generally agreed it
MUST have been Eugene Edward Taon, founder and chairman of the board of
Putt'n'Putt International himself, as only a complete megalomaniac could
possibly want such a thing printed.

About a week before, Ray Kohle had started writing up a mock "Putt'n'Putt
Fun" and he actually completed several pages, although he didn't finish
it. He's not a notoriously strong finisher.

"Putt'n'Putt Fun" is the official magazine of Putt'n'Putt. It's purely
promotional, so it's free. And it's just as well, because I can't imagine
ANYONE buying a subscription. (With the possible exception of Robert.) At
best it's maudlin, at worse, nauseous, sort of a cross between run Spot
run, see Spot run with exclamation points shotgunned all over the place
in an attempt to add a little excitement and the thoughts of Eugene
Edward Taon, founder and chairman of the board. Ray Kohle took particular
exception to the magazine's portrayal of JPPNAs as youngsters who joined
solely for the thrill of wholesome competition. He didn't like the word
wholesome at all. He disliked it even more than janitor I guess. Then
there was the somewhat curious concept of friendship and sportsmanship
being instilled into the JPPNAs by dedicated coaches. (And he also didn't
much care for dedicated. So now you know three words you should be
careful with around him. Janitor, wholesome and dedicated.)

But anyway, Ray Kohle thought awhile and then decided the best possible
article he could write was an obituary. Yes! That was IT! Only before he
even got the purple prose neatly arranged, it turned into "the great
reel".

It was simple. Eugene Edward Taon; founder and chairman of the board of
Putt'n'Putt International and McArthur Vomi; lanky putt'n'putter of the
decade (70s) and recently named greatest putt'n'putter ever to stare down
a golf ball, were both shot dead in Rapid City, S.D. by a deranged
ex-JPPNA. Well, almost before Ray Kohle could say "I've got an idea" and
Martin could say "Oh hell yes and this is what else we'll do" the
Putt'n'Putt flags were flying at half mast. The only ones in on the reel
ended up being myself, Ray Kohle, Martin, McAteer, Leo, Abner, Matthew
and Adam, since we all happened to be on the course at the time.

Martin said we really and truly could convince Robert that his date with
destiny had been canceled, but we HAD to keep a straight face.

"Damn well better or I'll kick somebody's ass" said Abner. Nobody had
ever seen him kick ass, but we'd heard he could if ever riled up. He
might could even kick Marianne the Happy Heifer's killer waitress' ass,
so that gave us a powerful incentive to maintain.

"Now just think" coached Martin, "of exactly how you would react if this
was really true." This was directed primarily at Matthew, Adam and
myself, since he apparently assumed the "adults" could be convincing. And
as a matter of fact, they were, by the way.

"I'd say it's just about damn time" said Matthew. And in regards to
Edward Eugene Taon, founder and chairman of the board, that probably IS
how he would react. You see, in the 86 JPPNA playoffs Matthew was almost
tossed out of the JPPNA by you know who when you know who noticed him
wearing his snappy white sun visor backwards. So you know who told
Matthew to put it on right. "Now!"

Matthew then told YOU KNOW WHO, the founder and chairman of the board of
Putt'n'Putt International, that there wasn't anything in the rule book
that said which way was right, and that's when it REALLY hit the fan.

"I'm just going to act shocked, surprised and mostly speechless" said I.

In so many words, Adam allowed as how he would be shocked, surprised and
speechless as well and finally Matthew decided he'd go for shocked and
surprised.

Soon after, the moment of untruth arrived when Robert drove up. As he
majestically strode across the course, we all ignored him.

"OK. This is it. Don't fuck up" hissed Martin.

Robert was almost within earshot. Who was going to break the news first?

Ray Kohle cleared his throat. (Not him!) He hadn't even seemed to notice
Robert, which of course was impossible, due to his constant heavy
breathing. "Well, I won't lie about it, I never liked either one, but the
game sure will be different, I know that. I mean, Eugene did invent the
game and like him or not, Vomi could putt. I don't know, I guess he had
his good points. It sure is hard to believe, though." He sounded fairly
sincere, I have to admit it.

"What do you mean? Why are the flags at half mast? What happened?" At
that point we looked up and noticed Robert.

"I don't guess you've heard" said Martin with insincere sympathy, which
was also very realistic since that's exactly how he would react, I know.

Abner then spoke very much in character as well, he came right to the
point. "Eugene and Vomi got themselves shot this morning."

"NO!! It can't... well, are they going to be OK or.." Robert trailed off.

"Nope. They're dead" said Abner.

Robert's mouth flopped open. I imagine his brain went, "They're trying to
trick me. But no, it must be true, else why are the flags at half mast?"

He sat down heavily. "I just can't believe it" he said.

"Well, you can believe it or not, but it's happened" said Abner, then he
asked Ray Kohle and Martin if they were going over to the Happy Heifer.

"Sure, why not?" said Ray Kohle very carefully.

So they left. Moments later, McAteer said he had to go across town. All
he said as he got up to leave was, "It's a bummer, dude", then he was
gone.

Adam and I were maintaining a downcast, uncomfortable silence. One quite
simply never knows what to say in such situations. Myself, I was keeping
in mind the image of being backhanded by Abner, and besides that, I just
had to wonder if we were possibly desecrating something.

But as for Matthew, well, he seemed to be totally unconcerned, he just
sat there popping his bubble gum.

This lack of concern didn't escape Robert either, for suddenly he said,
"I bet you don't even care, do you?"

"Nope" answered Matthew, then as Robert sat there glaring and breathing
heavily in shocked disbelief, he blew a large bubble and popped it.

It was then that Leo began talking about the mysteries of existence and
non-existence. I'm almost sure that's what he was talking about. True,
some of his remarks didn't seem really connected to anything in
particular, but that happens often enough in metaphysics. Besides, Leo
had maybe ten years of college. That's why if you were having a
conversation over at the Happy Heifer and he sat down uninvited at your
table, listened for a short time and then made an observation, you were
always afraid to mention that his learned observation didn't seem to be
connected to what you were talking about because maybe it WAS after all.
There was always that possibility. Not even Adam, who is profoundly
gifted and goes to a private school which stresses academic excellence
knew exactly what Leo was talking about most of the time, he SAID he
didn't, and that's really quite an admission coming from him, believe me.
I'd known him for about two days, then right out of nowhere he says, "In
case you don't know it, my IQ is 156." I wonder how he found it out? I
never could get anybody to tell me what mine was. But maybe I don't want
to know anyway. I'm not exactly sure.

But anyway, when Leo started expounding, we decided we'd head off to the
Happy Heifer ourselves. Robert stayed behind. I looked back before going
inside the restaurant and he was still standing around listening to Leo
and nodding his head as though he understood.

Inside we discovered things were beginning to escalate as Martin was at
that moment telling James; the owner; and two of his ancient waitresses
why our flags were at half mast. They were at half mast because Eugene
Edward Taon and McArthur Vomi had been shot dead in Rapid City, S.D.,
that's why. So he couldn't have told them "It's a joke", I mean James
doesn't joke about our flag; well, he doesn't joke about much of anything
actually; but he sure as HECK doesn't joke about Old Glory, no sir. But I
don't think we were being unpatriotic, we were just flying the flags at
half mast.

Me, Matthew and Adam were sitting three booths away taking all this in.
Even Matthew was starting to look a little worried. Then all at once Adam
jumped up and without a word headed for the bathroom, walking fairly
fast.

"Guess the kids are taking it pretty hard" said James.

"I don't think they know how to deal with it yet" said Martin.

A minute or so later Adam returned, wiping his eyes. Later I found out
what REALLY happened. He almost lost it. He said he was sitting there
listening to the funeral tones and all at once it was like he could
actually SEE Eugene Edward Taon, founder and chairman of the board of
Putt'n'Putt International in his casket with that same overbearing
expression on his face Matthew and everybody else saw back in 86. He said
it was like he was THERE, looking at him. Dead. And as he envisioned
himself paying his last respects to the founder and chairman of the
board, what suddenly flashed into his head was, "Yep. He's dead all
right" and with that thought came an almost uncontrollable urge to bust
out laughing. But he managed to hold it in until he hit the bathroom.
Which is one reason why I think there's still hope for him.

But anyway, when we returned to the course shortly after, we discovered
the situation had escalated even further, as Donna and Traci had dropped
by the course in our absence. And for once I had to agree with Leo. I
mean what else could he have done? Robert was standing right there at the
counter, so when they asked why the flags were at half mast, he had to
tell them the shocking news. Then Traci; that's Donna's cheerful and
bubbling friend who sometimes helped whenever Ray Kohle or Martin ended
up booking three or more birthday parties at the same darn time; wondered
when the funeral was, so he told them 1:30 Monday afternoon in Great
Falls, Montana. Because that's where the home office is, which is because
that's where the founder and chairman of the board was born, built the
first Putt'n'Putt and really WILL be buried sooner of later.

So at that point Traci said they should go to the funeral.

Donna said she wasn't sure if she could, but if it was OK with her folks
they would go. And they left sorrowfully.

"Her old man will never let her go" said Martin with what appeared to be
forced conviction.

Leo shook his head. "Naturally, I assumed if I placed the funeral in
Great Falls they wouldn't even consider-"

"What are you trying to say?" interrupted Martin. A note of concern had
crept into his voice. As well it should have.

Leo took a deep breath, then calmly said, "Donna called ten minutes ago.
They were just leaving."

"What!?" screamed Martin, "Why didn't you TELL them it was a REEL?"

"I TOLD her to stop by the COURSE to TALK to me for a few minutes before
they LEFT, since that was ALL I could do, because ROBERT was still
STANDING here!" exploded Leo.

"So IS SHE?"

"No, she is NOT!"

I thought Martin was going to have a stroke. After awhile he regained a
little composure, not a whole lot, but at least some. He barked, "Ray
Kohle! Go get that road map atlas you keep in your car!"

Ray Kohle shrugged and got it.

"Now figure out the mileage to Great Falls" ordered Martin.

"Well, I'm not sure which way she'd go" said Ray Kohle reasonably.

Exasperated, Martin then hollered at me to please see if I could figure
out the damn mileage because it looked like Ray Kohle didn't even know
his ass from a hole in the ground.

Ray Kohle shrugged and shoved the atlas over the counter at me. "Go to
it" he said.

"OK" I said. (I often enough had my nose stuck in his atlas because I
liked planning imaginary trips.)

So I came up with a figure in a very short time. "Well, I might be off a
few miles, because they give mileage almost at every damn intersection on
the Interstate, I really hate damn Intersta-"

"How damn far is it?" Martin more than screamed.

Well shit, if he wanted to be that way about it, I'd just tell him then.
"984 miles" I said.

"Oh my God!" shouted Martin. I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't hear
him all the way over at the Happy Heifer. Once again he appeared to be
having a stroke, a major one this time, then he frantically grabbed the
phone. Calming himself as best he could, he dialed Donna's house as it
turned out. And she was gone. Just like Leo said. And no, Martin did NOT
tell Mr. Freeman it was a reel. One simply does not tell Mr. Freeman his
perpetually cheerful and bubbling and only daughter is going
approximately 984 miles as a result of being reeled. Well, right. I guess
they WOULD have to come back. So OK then, 1968 miles. If they didn't make
a wrong turn.

So Martin jumped into his Honda Civic hoping desperately to catch them.
Ray Kohle shook his head as Martin peeled rubber headed off, off and away
and said, "I don't know if he knows it or not, but that ain't the way to
the Interstate."

About a minute or so later, Martin apparently had realized the error of
his way, for he zoomed by going the right way. See, he WOULD'VE been
going the right way at FIRST but they were doing some work on the exit
ramps, so they were closed. But you're right. That's not really important
anyway. I'm sorry.

Ray Kohle shook his head again. "It still don't matter. If Traci's
driving, Emerson Fittipaldi couldn't run her down, not with a fifteen
minute head start, he couldn't." (She LIKED to drive, which is probably
why she decided to go to the funeral in the first place, because she
didn't know one thing about Eugene, not one thing. Which is also why she
wouldn't drop by to talk to Leo because she KNEW, I bet, he was going to
try talking them out of it.)

So you're probably wondering where Robert was during all that commotion.
Well, he left right after Donna called. Leo said he looked resolved.

OK. Martin had been gone about 20 minutes. Matthew had to leave for a
dental appointment. And Leo had left as well, which left Ray Kohle in the
clubhouse. The phone rang. Ray Kohle sighed and picked it up. It was
Robert. Naturally I didn't catch both ends of the conversation, but Ray
Kohle's end told most of the story anyway. It went pretty much like this:
(Most of the pauses between Ray Kohle's sound bits are for whatever
Robert was saying.) "Good afternoon. Putt'n'Putt, may I help you?" ..
"Where you calling from?" .. "Oh, well what does your mother think about
that?" ... "Oh. Well, OK, but I sort of doubt if your mother-" ... "Well
yeah, I guess it's time you did something on your own all right. OK. So
you got something to write with and some paper?" ... "Good. OK. Now
you're on I-35W north so... go to the very next exit and turn around. Go
back to I-94. Then you take the west exit. Now just STAY on 94 until you
get to... hold it a second." (He turned to the map of North Dakota.) "OK.
Now when you get to Jamestown, N.D., you exit on U.S. 52 west, OK? Stay
on 52 until you get to the Canadian border-" ..."It's a shortcut, OK?" ..
"So when you go through customs.." ... "Yeah. It's at 1:30 Monday, so
when-" ... "Yeah. Right. Monday afternoon. So when you go through
customs, just say you'll only be visiting for about a day.." ...."Well,
look Robert, in case you didn't know it, it's almost a thousand miles-"
... "Damn near. You still going?" ... "Well, OK. So you go through
customs and you're on highway 39 now. Hold it a second." (And he turned
to the map of Saskatchewan.) ... "Yeah, they'll take your credit card.
Stay on 39 for about 33, 87, OK, for about 132 miles till you hit highway
6. Go north." ... "OK, I'll wait." ... "Got it? OK. Stay on 6 through
Regina-" ... "It's in Saskatchewan." ... "S-A-S-K-A-T-C-H-E-W-A-N."
..."Now stay on 6 until you get to Melfort. Then take highway 3 to Prince
Albert." ... "Then about three miles north of Prince Albert take highway
55 to Green Lake." ... "Now you're almost there. At Green Lake take
highway 155 north and just keep going until you see the signs for Great
Falls. Then I guess you can ask directions to the course and they'll tell
you where the funeral is." ... "That's OK." ... "Yeah, Donna and Traci
are on their way." ... "No, I'm afraid I won't be able to make it.
Martin's going though." ... "Well, see you when you get back. Have a good
trip."

Yes, Robert decided whether his momma grounded him or not, he was going
to the funeral. I was sure she'd be out looking for him soon enough. But
I still had to ask. "Exactly where in the hell are you trying to send
him, anyway?" I wondered.

"Well" said Ray Kohle expansively, "You do understand that he don't know
a whole lot about geography, or reading a map for that matter, I mean
he's WAY below average, so he'll probably end up getting lost and asking
directions, but still, if everything goes right and he takes the ferry at
Churchill Lake, he ought to end wa-y up in Buffalo Narrows. Then I guess
he'll just have to turn around because there ain't no more road. They
might not take credit cards up there, either."

He then pointed out Buffalo Narrows on the map. It looked pretty good. I
have no idea how far it was. I mean they don't give mileage on those
little twisty blue roads.

And yes, not too long after all of that Mr. and Mrs. Etron stopped by the
course wondering if Ray Kohle knew where their Robert was, it was past
their suppertime.

"He said he was going to Eugene Taon's funeral" he answered calmly.

"Just who is this Eugene Taon and why didn't Robert say something to me
about it?" asked Mrs. Etron.

So Ray Kohle said Eugene was a Putt'n'Putt maintenance man and he had no
idea why Robert hadn't told her first.

Unfeelingly she snapped, "And just WHERE is this janitor's funeral
supposed to be?"

"Philadelphia" said Ray Kohle.

So. Traci and Donna were headed for Great Falls. Martin was trying to
catch them before they got there. It seemed like Robert was headed in the
general direction of the North Pole. His parents were headed for
Philadelphia and I was beginning to think Ray Kohle ought to seriously
consider leaving the country himself. I mean this was getting out of
hand.

OK. Around 7:30 me and Adam were over at the restaurant wondering how
everything would end up when who did we spy pulling up outside but Lars
AND William. And yes, the flags were still at half mast over at
Putt'n'Putt. We TOLD Ray Kohle to talk to Abner and he tried to, but
Abner thought we ought to just go through with it. WHY? Just what MORE
could we DO to Robert anyway? He was already REELED, damn it! We could
have mentioned to the folks at the Happy Heifer that somebody sure must
have a really sick sense of humor, calling us and making up a story like
that about our founder and chairman of the board, but nooo.

And so we were about to race off and raise the flags ourselves, Abner be
damned, but it was too late, because even before we could exit our booth,
ancient Miss Mary; James's mother or grandmother, I'm really not sure
which; scurried up to Lars and William who were just then sitting down to
eat before their surprise course inspection, and she said, "Isn't it just
awful about Mr. Taon and that Vomi fella? What's this old world coming
to? How old was that little boy that shot them, anyhow?"

                           TO BE CONTINUED

(A very short editorial aside.) Well, you see, one good way to finish
this story would be to leave it hanging because then one's imagination
could just run wild, but the way it did end was almost anticlimactic. But
it was still sort of interesting I guess. So I'll go ahead and tell you
how things worked out.


So OK. First, when Lars and William came steaming over to see just what
in the hell was going on, Ray Kohle said a Dick Bennett; who said he was
calling from the home office; had informed them of Eugene Edward Taon's
and McArthur Vomi's deaths and "You mean it didn't HAPPEN?"

"No!" exploded William, "I've never heard of Dick Bennett in my entire
life! Don't you even know who works at the home office?"

"Well no sir, not everybody" said Ray Kohle.

"Where's Martin? I thought he was supposed to be on now" asked Lars.

"Well, uh, he decided to go to the funeral" said Ray Kohle.

"Oh, my GOD! Who ELSE decided to go?" wondered Lars.

"Well, uh, Donna and Traci. And I guess Robert."

"I hope Robert gets lost" said Lars fervently.

"I suppose it's possible" said Ray Kohle.

"I KNOW it's possible" said Lars. Really. NOBODY likes Robert.

So you see, THAT storm was weathered very nicely indeed and after telling
Ray Kohle the course was a complete mess and he should check out rumors
just a little more closely next time, Lars and William left for a
surprise inspection of Bloomington #2. Whew! Except for Donna and Traci,
Robert and Mr. and Mrs. Etron being scattered all over the country, of
course.

Well. First, Mr. and Mrs. Etron drove around the neighborhood for a
couple of hours, but they didn't go to Philadelphia. It became apparent
they weren't going there when they stopped by the course shortly after
ten that night, wondering if Ray Kohle had seen Robert yet. I guess they
didn't figure he could so much as find his way out of Hennepin County.

So Ray Kohle sadly told them that somebody had played a sick joke on the
course and he hoped Robert didn't go all the way to Philadelphia.

To which Mrs. Etron replied, "He had just better HOPE he don't go to
Philadelphia! I'll tell you one thing, when he gets home, he's going to
STAY home awhile. I think he's taking this Putt'n'Putt way too seriously.
It's about time he grew up."

"Yes ma'am" said Ray Kohle.

But Mrs. Etron wasn't finished. "ALL of you ought to have something
better to do with your lives and why don't you get rid of that earring?
Do you know what that looks like to me?"

Very calmly he answered, "I suppose I can imagine, ma'am, but the truth
is I like it."

"Come on Paul" said Mrs. Etron to her wretched husband, "This place is
making me ill."

"PHHTTTT!" went Ray Kohle over the p.a. system as the Etrons reached
their car.

Next, Martin miraculously DID catch Donna and Traci after all, just
beyond St.Cloud. He then explained the whole thing, apologized profusely,
paid for their gas and mentioned how he'd be fired if word ever got out,
so the girls forgave him very sweetly, promised not to tell, (BOTH of
them are in the National Honor Society), said it was a really nice drive
anyway and then the three of them went to a Long John Silver's. But at
least Martin was kind enough to call the course which allowed Ray Kohle
to let them all in on the new official version. Although Donna did not
entirely approve of Ray Kohle, she nevertheless decided it would be much
simpler for all concerned if they went along with the new version. And
they did.

Robert ended up in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Nobody, most especially Robert,
knows how in the HELL he ended up THERE, but that's still where he ended
up. So I guess when he tried to ask a city policeman directions to Great
Falls, Montana by way of S-a-s-k-a-t-c-h-e-w-a-n and mentioned starting
out from Minneapolis, something must've gotten lost in translation,
because his momma and daddy had to go get him. He followed them back home
I guess. He probably HAD to, else he might have ended up in Costa Rica.

Anyway, Robert was returned home sometime Monday night. Tuesday,
Wednesday and Thursday passed with no sign of him, so we had no choice
but to shelve our documentary. Late Thursday Randall was told he would
oppose McArthur Vomi. But then Friday afternoon who should appear but
Robert! He was no longer grounded! So he played Vomi and lost twelve and
ten. Twelve and TEN!! Robert didn't even stick around for the post-match
ceremonies, he just stomped off, climbed into his 1974 Cadillac Sedan
DeVille, slammed the door and roared off in a cloud of blue smoke.


So I hope this was OK. Again, please advise. If you would like to, of
course. `Cause it wouldn't bother me none. Least I don't think so.

jjjanicki@gmail.com