Saturday, January 27, 2007

The True Meaning of Friendship

I'm still here in the jungle in a country I can't name for security reasons but which sounds a lot like Sticaragua. I tried to fix the bi-plane but it was impossible. Nobody makes parts for bi-planes anymore. In fact most people don’t even believe bi’s of any kind exist but I know better. The truth is it's easier to find components for a nuclear bomb. Three calls. That's all it takes. So I'm hiking out which should take about a week or so.

Because of the accident with my last guide Ortiz I had to I hire a new guide whose name is also Ortiz. Oddly enough he looks exactly like the other Ortiz except he has better skin which makes me think he might be gay but I can’t be sure. We've been traveling for a couple of days now and although our relationship is cordial, it hasn't been exactly what you would call sisterly, that is until today.

We're walking along the river sweating profusely and I suggest a swim to cool off. He blanches beneath his brown skin and tells me that it is infested with piranha and would be certain death to enter it. I told him I once worked in a button factory so I knew all about piranhas. He said, 'Button? Button is just for fasten.” I said, 'Exactly. Everybody uses buttons. One day we won't be using oil but we'll still be using buttons. Then he finally got it. Then we hear this commotion coming from around the bend. Ortiz puts his hand up to his mouth in the international sign of Sssh and I finish my sentence and then go quiet. We hear voices, a man and two women and it sounds like they’re discussing the career of Estelle Getty. They suddenly stop their discussion and then the man yells out, "We're coming around a corner ladies! Stroke hard! Then a boat pops into view. Inside are Beatrice Arthur, Betty White and Rue McClanahan. Just what I thought, a man and two women. Betty and Rue are trying valiantly to stop the boat from running into the opposite bank and Bea is standing in the prow barking out directions. She points at a shallow beach on the opposite side of the river and yells, "There!" That's it! That's the place!"

Ortiz and I duck behind a tree and watch quietly. Bea was the first to alight. She hopped onto the shore barefoot and quickly tied the boat to a tree. Then she hauled it in hand after hand fighting the current the whole way while Betty and Rue tried to help by stroking madly against the current. Finally they got the boat to shore and the other two hopped out. Betty was last. She was holding a golden urn which she clutched closely to her bosom. Then the three of them put their hands on the urn and turned the lid as one. They pulled it off and then turned it over and all this dust and dirt came out. As the dust blew away with the wind and the little pieces fell into the water the river suddenly erupted into a boiling froth as the piranhas went into a feeding frenzy. I realized that it must be the remains of Estelle Getty and that this beach area must have been an important place for her. I guess all those stories about her being a spy for Somoza were correct. As I turned back to Ortiz I noticed that he was crying. That was all I needed. He was definitely gay.

So I said,” Don’t be sad Ortiz. Estelle had a good run. This is a beautiful thing.” He said, “Estelle’s not dead yet.” Suddenly my impulse to ask them for a ride back to civilization didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Perhaps,” I said, trying to put a positive spin on the macabre events, “but she’s not on TV anymore and that’s almost the same thing to an old trouper like her.” He nodded in international gay understanding. As I turned back to watch the three dames get back into the boat to make their return journey, I noticed that the river was now filled with hundreds of dead piranha and I thought to myself, “Via con dios Estelle and Heaven help Heaven.”

Gabcast! ewe #18 - Womyn's Common

In which a group of women squeeze all the joy out of being a woman.


Thursday, January 25, 2007

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Six Million Shoes

I can't believe I haven't talked to ewe since Saturday. Considering all that went down it's a wonder I'm still here. It was a squeaker but we did it. We got the chapter out. If it wasn't for the hospitable native family from the jungle who helped me set up my blogcasting equipment in their casino tent that horrible night it would never have happened. Thank you Mr and Mrs. Many Rope Ladders, your son Nose in a Scroll and daughter Green Onion. If you are ever in my neck of the woods and wearing clothes, do look me up.

Testing done on the soil of the blast site showed traces of leather, glue, sweat and paint. It was just as I feared. Francesca Fiori had used her biggest card yet, the six thousand shoe bomb. Not actually six thousand shoes, just the power of. It is believed that she possesses a bomb with the power of six million shoes. Let's pray it's just a rumour. I can't promise my reaction would be measured.

But enough of all this sturm and drang, what has happened, has happened. In the end we will prevail because it is the will of ewe that I do. Francesca and Dr. Robert Young can huff and puff all they want but in the end, all they will be is out of breath. And just because I don't have a state of the art production facility, doesn't mean I can't entertain you which bring you to this picutre my friend Dominic did. I think it's very sad and that makes me feel hopeful.