Friday, March 25, 2011

When Harry Met Callie

By Absolutely*Kate & Harry B. Sanderford

When Harry met Callie he was wearing soft blue worn jeans, a plain white T-shirt and a sailboat . . . nothing more, nothing less, but that was plenty a lot for Callie. When Callie met Harry she was wearing the modest half of a silver bikini and sputtering  salt water onto that plain white T in response to the CPR he administered after fishing this most exotic creature from the clear blue Caribbean. Callie was lost in finding Harry's eyes as clear blue as the Caribbean while a mixed mouthful of sputter signals sensated from his particular CPR technique. Did the Red Cross really advocate massage therapy? "Do'n'n'n't stop," she purred thinking she'd shivered against his timber. Oh but to gauge the timber of a man. 't'was Callie's heart revived but Harry's cheeks that colored, and as first aid rounded second base it would be his own rusty heart to beat free of his chest and flap helplessly upon the deck for the beautiful nymph plucked from the sea. Under the strain of voyaging, this sea goddess of Aphrodite knew that many sailors through the ages have seen in the ocean the embodiment of their deepest fears and desires. This mortal who'd plucked her from sea and lucked her heart free, seemed so the reel-deal. Nothing about the way his strength exuded and his emotions protruded let her feel he'd zeal just for the halibut. Would her mermaiden secret be safe 'pon his deck? Callie decided this mortal grasping her pelvic and pectoral might just be her Adonis. Nothing ventured nothing gained, she allowed Harry to glimpse not the silvery bikini bottom, but instead revealed her actual tarpon type tail fins; the sight of which left Harry not knowing whether to heave-to, fall off, or run (it had been a very long time). Smitten though he was, he finally decided he knew when to fish or cut bait....and it was at that moment they hit the reef.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Friday, March 11, 2011

Cup Or Cone?

Harry B. Sanderford

After repeated disappointments with his experiments in the field of Expeditious Nutrition, (including one nearly catastrophic incident with the Ham-O-Pult) Dr. Fullerfaster, as so often is the case, inadvertantly invents the ice cream bong. Ever on the lookout for new ways to indulge an old sweet-tooth, test subject Eugene eagerly shot-guns a bucket of butter brickle. Gravity urging the frosty treat south with no calorie surrendered revolving a cone, Eugene delights in the sinful sensuality of the creamy, cool, sweet so effortlessly ingested. True love he speculates, surely holds no deeper satisfaction than does this speedy delivery of sugary butterfat. Eugene is of course mistaken and not for the first time. His musings routinely fall somewhere short of insightful, but then Eugene after all, is an imbecile.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Dooley Noted

 Harry B. Sanderford

All morning long his nerves had been on edge and he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. He had a clean line of sight six miles in any direction and as far as he could see, he and his mule Katie were the only two in the territory. Dooley stoppered the bottle and slid it back in his saddlebag, admonishing himself for being so damn jumpy. He gave Katie her reins so he could roll a smoke and was licking the gummed paper when he heard a soft snap and turned whence it came. A nearly imperceptible imperfection at first, an eyelash viewed in peripheral vision, became a stitch on the horizon and then a seam unraveling an opening in the fabric of the sky. Dooley looked up to see the clear blue winking open to reveal a world size bloodshot eye. He dropped his cigarette makin’s, grabbed himself a handful of reins and slapping Katie's flanks shouted, "Well on the upside Katie, I reckon we ain’t goin' crazy!"